A Triangle with Curves
by Taylor Robinson
Summary: After the terorits escape the Plaza, they kidnap a 17 year old girl for security and Hans and Karl have a similar interst in her
1. Chapter 1

The plane bounces frighteningly with the sudden turbulence. I feel my stomach lurch uncomfortably with the sensation. I shut my eyes to block out the terrifying shaking. Without cause, a repressed memory hits me. We were bouncing in a fake ambulance, rocketing over speed bumps after passing through the elementary school road in my neighborhood. I had been making a late run to the local 7-11 due to a PMS induced craving for chocolate chip cookies. The ambulance had its lights on, but no siren, yet I was surprised they had stopped so far from a hospital. The back doors opened and rough hands grabbed me and pulled me inside the back, which was not equipped as an ambulance should be. Guns and high powered weapons were stored in the back, along with stacks of briefcases. Later I would find out they were filled with bonds. And money, lots and lots of money. The robbers/terrorists, Theo, Karl, and their leader, Hans, were my kidnappers. There were more of them originally, I found out from the news, but they were killed.

A grating voice next to me brings me back into the present, which is just as bad, if not worse, as the past. At least with the past I know how it ends.

"Wow, that was a bad spot, no?" Karl asks. I nod, opening my eyes. He is about thirty/ thirty five and has been shamelessly hitting on me every time Hans is not around, despite my spurns. Only six hours left. Typically, people would be longing to be free of this type of person, but I am fretting over when we land.

"So you don't like turbulence eh? Don't get on top of me in bed" he flirts.

"Wasn't considering it anyway," I mutter, thankfully cutoff by the drink cart.

"What it'll be for you?" she asks him first.

"Brandy, on the rocks," he winks at me. Inwardly I groan. She hands it to him with a napkin and then asks me. I request water with ice.

"Want some?" he asks me, indicating his alcoholic beverage once the drink cart passed our row.

"Sir, are you aware that you are offering alcohol to a minor, which is illegal, if you are not aware, and just one more thing you could be charged for?" I ask lowering my voice at the end. He has threatened to hijack the plane if I try anything funny. He shrugs.

"Yeah, I know that, but do you want some?" he replies in a lowered tone, leaning in toward my face. I nearly puke, and not from the turbulence.

"No, I prefer not to engage in illegal activities," I forcefully tell him. He sighs and leans away.

He sips his drink while I begin to fill out a Sudoku puzzle in one of those in-flight magazines. In the corner of my eye, I can see that he is still leering at me.

"I'm gonna go take a piss," he states putting his drink down on the tray table. "Wanna come with me? We could play midget boxing." He pauses, waiting for me to ask what that is, but I give him no response. "That's where you get down on your knees and give me a few blows," he grins and waits for my response.

"I'll take a pass."

"Next time then," he states cockily and he leaves. Thank god I took the window seat. And thankfully Hans had the decency to book us in first class, at least I don't have to deal with us being crampingly close. Once he is out of ear shot I wave a flight attendant over.

"Hi, could I please switch seats?" I ask, the pleading creeping into my voice.

"No, I'm sorry but we have a full booked plane and we're unable to switch seats once we're airborne. My apologies." And she walks off. I know that Hans is going to be waiting for me at the airport, and I have been forbidden to tell anyone what has happened, or else they say they will kill everyone here and that the pilot is part of their group. If the hushed conversation they exchanged earlier is any proof, he is, as he knows all about the money. Theo is sitting only one row forward across the aisle. I glance at him and he is grinning back at me, obviously laughing at my predicament with this disgusting man.

They managed to get me this far because for a month they were smuggling the bonds out of the U.S. and waited, living in the van and bouncing around from motels, making it out to the east coast.

"You know, I was gonna try and masturbate in there, but I realized that I need a name to go with your face," he wags his eyebrows at me.

"If you recall, when you all first kidnapped me and lied saying you were going to make a ransom demand, Hans asked my name. I don't blame you for forgetting, it's clear you have a low intelligence. It's Nicole Wilkins by the way."

"Well, Nicole," he sneers, "thank you for the reminder. And I would appreciate if you kept your voice down, and I know all these innocent passengers would too. Oh and sorry I didn't remember. I was too busy staring at your tits," he whispers in my ear. God, slapping him would be heaven. I know just what he was referring to about my 'tits'. I was in a sports bra and they had hung me upside-down in order to get my name out of me. The bulge was practically hitting me in the face. I let the silence grown between us.

ONE HOUR LATER

Oh goddamn it. I knew this would happen eventually, but I really have to use the bathroom. Still a bit turbulent but not too bad. I unbuckle my seatbelt and politely ask him to move.

"Can I come with? I'll only watch, I promise."

"I'm not going to dignify that with a response." Just as I am passing in front of him, a huge wave of turbulence comes and knocks me off my feet. I go flying back into his lap and his arms instantly clamp me down. One arm in clenched around my hips, the other hand is forcefully gripping my crotch. I'm wearing sweat pants and he's got a damn good grip. Despite his repulsiveness, I can't help but melt a little into his hand. I can hear him grinning behind me. Because it is an evening flight, or at this point night, the lights are out and most people are sleeping. No one sees. I try and get up but another wave knocks me back and his arms forbid it. He tuts disapprovingly in my ear.

"But we're having so much fun, don't leave yet," he coos.

"I swear to God, Karl, I'm going to pee on you," I threaten. He moans softly as his finger reaches beneath my sweatpants and underwear, exploring my deep regions. Tracing around the center, he swings his finger out and tastes my discharge.

"Mmmmhm, babe you're sweet. I want more." He digs his finger back in, swirling it around and pushing gently on my flaps, spreading them out and touching their every inch. A sigh passes my lips and he's lightly kissing my neck. Now his finger is leaving a wet trail farther back, sliding deeper between my legs and away from my pleasure center. Feeling around before proceeding, he pushes open the trench of my ass. Making a long sweep up to my small back and then going down again, I involuntarily lean back. He begins to go inside my back hole, slowly parting the way and moving deeper. Suddenly, I feel something hard pushing against my legs. I yelp is surprise and force his hands off and slide away, appalled that I didn't scream out and let him probe me. I run to the bathroom.


	2. Chapter 2

In the fluorescent lighting I hide. This terrible man, who I permitted to touch me, waits outside for me to be back in his reach. A tremor moves through me uncontrollably. I do my business, freshen up a bit, and then force myself to calmly return to my seat, not allowing the panic to show. Deep inside, though it hurts to admit, there is a thrill of excitement. The rest of the flight passes uneventfully, if you count him constantly peering down my shirt and trying to squeeze my breasts uneventful. When we finally touch down, I exhale the stress I had been holding in for the past 3 hours. There's no going back now.

It is finished.

No more chance of freedom.

So I should not try,

The terrible truth keeps me mellow, though I am thrilled to be getting out of my current situation. Not that the new one will be any better. Al least Hans isn't a sex crazed fiend, but he barely perceives me as a person. Personally, I am a very social person and like to get to know people. He…doesn't. I foresee a very lonely and dull future, unless the police have connected my disappearance to the terrorists and bothered to track these "reported dead" criminals all the way to their homeland. Theo, Karl, and I all avoid making eye contact, so as not to tip off any bystanders that we know each other and result in the death of everyone on board, even at this late stage. We finally exit the plane, leaving out to the gate. Karl and I at this point have officially separated, but he and Theo are keeping a close watch on me and walking a set distance behind me.

I find my way to the baggage claim, locate my small, pink duffle bag spinning around and try to find the meeting point Hans predetermined. The reason my bag is so small is because I wasn't allowed to go shopping and so the few clothes that were gradually bought for me almost never fit. They were very stingy with what was purchased. I have one oversized T-shirt, two sweatpants, one pair of skinny jeans, one sweatshirt, one sweater, one long-sleeved tee, and three paper thin tank tops that are so tight they constrict my organs. Oh, and two bras near to my correct size (I wrote it down for them), and one awkward lacy thing that doesn't fit at all that Theo gave me as a gag gift. Complete with a matching thong. Counting that, seven total pairs of underwear. Hopefully now, I will be able to go shopping, with Hans' money, of course.

I see a man sitting at a café table, reading a day old news paper with a bowler hat on, and a navy turtle neck. Apprehensively, I move towards his table. Karl and Theo exchange a sly signal and depart.

"Hello, there, stranger," I say. He carefully folds the paper up, paying extra care to the folds.

"I trust your flight went well," he says briskly. Not even a greeting. I sneak a glance at the departing Karl. He turns around at that very moment and stares right at me.

"It went alright." He finally looks at me and follows my gaze. He makes no comment, but begins to make stronger eye contact.

"Come along, let's go. I'm parked in the garage." He picks up my bag and carries it through the remainder of the airport. He puts in the trunk of a light green classic tiny European car. At least it has four wheels and isn't one of those silly clown cars. Without putting up a fight, I go into the passenger side door, buckle, and try to keep from crying. The only thing keeping me in line at this point is the handgun slightly sticking out of his pocket. He joins me and fires up the engine. So there really is no turning back.


	3. Chapter 3

Sorry, this is going to be bad, I am in a hurry but wanted to update. Thanks everyone for the positive reviews!

Outside the airport, a soft rain patters down. We sit in silence for a while, I try the radio, but the harsh German speaking that flies out frightens me and I slam the power button off. It reminds me of the beginning of my time in captivity with them constantly barking German into CB transmitters. I suppress a shiver. Unsuccessfully.

I have always wanted to tour Europe, especially Germany, but I imagined doing so as a free woman and with family or friends in college. The air is brisk, even in the car, and I fish my sweatshirt out of my bag. Hans has carefully been watching my movements out of the corner of his eye while he drives.

"How much longer," I ask, after forty-five minutes of silence.

"If traffic doesn't pick up, about thirty more minutes." I nod to acknowledge this and manipulate the lever to lower the seat. The only sleep I got on the plane was light and restless. I drift off slowly.

I jolt awake to a slight shake of my shoulder.

"Come on, we are at my house. I will show you around." I realize my mistake in falling asleep. Should the opportunity arise, I have no way to back track and leave his street and get on main roads or to public places. I don't even know what the front of the house looks like or if there are neighbors. Obediently, I follow him inside.

Immediately, the house opens up to a laundry room. There are two coats hanging on a rack and a pair of gloves. It is very small and he keeps moving through after taking off his shoes. I do the same. We are in the main entrance hall. After two feet away on the wall behind me is the front door. I consider it, but he has the gun, and we could be in the middle of nowhere. The windows to the side are crusted with frost and glazed over anyways. To my right is a corridor that leads to what I think is a bedroom with a bathroom across from it. To the left is a bigger room, the door is slightly ajar and I'll bet it's the master.

A door less doorway leads into a kitchen/dining area that connects directly to the entertainment area. A small television set stands on the far wall and a loveseat and two lazyboy chairs are facing it. Bookshelves center the TV and next to the love seat is a small end table. Above the chairs is a small, narrow, steep staircase that leads to what must be the attic.

Over all, it is very Spartan. The kitchen table is clear, as well are the counters and refrigerator, and cabinets.

"Doesn't it get lonely here?" I ask before I can stop myself, the environment is so bare. He fixates his intense eyes on me.

"No," he curtly answers. At the sound of his voice, a bark sounds, muffled by the back door that is behind the table. A dog door is shoved open and a huge, fluffy German Sheppard pounds through. It bounds up and stands on its hind legs, its front paws square on his chest. It is probably taller than me. I take a few hurried steps back, big dogs scare me. It senses me and a low growl emits from its throat. It takes a few threatening steps toward me.

"Nine. Besiegen. Freund." Still, the dog growls and advances. "Besiegen!" He stops. I let go of a sigh of relief.

"How did he survive while you were gone?" He gestures to a self pouring food bowl that keeps a container on top and water dish with a cooler.

"He is a good hunter as well," he elaborates. All the lack of affection Hans seemed to have previously seems to have been placed on this dog.

"What is his name?"

"Ardal, it means intelligent."

"He certainly obeys well."

"Yes, and recognizes friend from foe." From the dogs reaction to me, I'm going to bet I'm a foe. "Here, I'll show you your room." The dog, Ardal, follows at his heals, untrustingly glancing back at me. My room is the one down the hallway. I plop my bag down on the bed, it is a blue comforter with a yellow square design on it. A full bed, actually better than the one I had.

"Thanks, I'll get settled," I say, trying to get him to leave.

"Okay. The bathroom's down the hall, just so you know. I'll get dinner started." He turns to leave, but throws one more comment over his shoulder. "My room is closest to the front door. I'll know if you leave, and so will Ardal." There is defiantly a threat in there, a soft growl from the dog doesn't hurt either.

I flop on the bed and a few tears leak out, but I'm saving the real water works for tonight before I fall asleep. The bed smells stale and a bit musty. The whole house could use an air out. Better than the cheap motels though. There is a short but wide dresser parallel to the bed. On the other side is a shade covered window, but I quickly move it aside and look out, wiping the accumulated fog and frost away in a section. The world is a dull gray white. Melting snow, bare road, and only a few houses in the distance. I'm kinda screwed.


	4. Chapter 6

I stay in my room for a while, but grow bored and restless and decide to check out the bathroom. It is small, but pretty clean. It has a tile floor, bathtub/shower on the far wall sideways to the door, a thin, cream coloured curtain is pushed to one side. The toilet is about two feet away and the sink another two after that. A medicine cabinet with a mirror beginning to rust hangs above the sink and a small shelf to the side. I turn to leave, but freeze.

The dog stands in the door way, eyeing me. Unsure whether to move forward or wait for him to leave, I decide to assert my dominance. I move forward and shove my way past his muscled, furry form. He turns to watch me leave into the kitchen, then follows.

Hans is working at the stove, something sizzling in the pan.

"Where are the cups?" I ask. He answers without looking up.

"In the cabinet above the sink."

"Thanks. Where should I get the water from?"

"The fridge is fine." I get a glass of ice water and sit at the table, the pale, waxing wood showing me my reflection.

"How much longer to dinner?"

"About ten minutes." He is being so curt; I want to yell at him. It's terrible enough being here, but to have him completely shut me out as well is too much to handle. The silence stretches for a while.

"Anything I can do?" This time he does turn to look at me.

"You could stop pestering me." My mouth drops in shock and I smash my glass down, water sloshing over the sides. I pound out of the kitchen and into my room, slamming the door. God damn him! He forces me to come here, and doesn't even bother to make it slightly decent. It's not like I'm not lonely or anything.

A small alarm clock on the dresser tells me I spent fifteen minutes cussing him out in my head and punching a pillow. Dinner must be ready and the bastard didn't even call me. I am so sick of him and we haven't even spent four hours together. I thud out of my room so he knows I'm coming. The dog is lying at his feet under the table and Hans has a plate of Canadian bacon, sausage, scalloped potatoes, and corn.

"Thanks for letting me know it was dinner time," I say, glaring and picking up a plate and getting the food out of the pans. He rolls his eyes.

"After your angry departure, I assumed you would not want me to speak to you."

"You assumed incorrectly. In the future, please let me know when food is ready."

"Fine," he says. I sit down at the place I put my water glass and begin to eat. The dog comes over and puts on a begging face.

"Can I feed the dog?" I ask.

"He has a name."

"Can I feed Ardal?" I ask after a slight hesitation where I racked my brains for his name.

"A little bit is okay."

"You could have said that the first time," I point out, just to be a smart ass.

"Yes, I could have, but I chose not to." I just roll my eyes. I strip off the edge of the bacon and dangle it in the air for the dog. He snatches it up and I repeat it. Hans watches me carefully, and it unnerves me so I quickly stop and feed myself. He finishes before me and turns on the TV and plops down in a Lazyboy chair. I can tell by the set up, backgrounds, and emotion behind the words that it is the news, but it is in German and I don't bother to try to understand it. I finish and lie down on the loveseat.

"Do you get any channels in English?"

"A few." I wait for him to say more. He doesn't and is very fixated on the news.

"Would it be possible to watch one of them?" In response, he holds up the "one moment" finger. I wait. After the news report switches, he turn to me.

"I don't know why you think being an American snob is going to win you any points in my book, but I suggest you stop it." I am alarmed by his blunt hatred. So much that I jump to my feet and start spouting out my thoughts.

"Hey! You made me come here and abandon everyone I know and love. Did you ever consider I may be just a tad pissed off about that?" I wait for him to say something. "No, no I suppose _you_ wouldn't. But if you don't want to spend the rest of the time I'm here, however long you force me to stay with you, keeping me inline and fighting me, may I _suggest_ that you start behaving a bit kinder towards me. Miserable people have nothing to lose," I carefully threaten him.

"Channel 5, 12, and 29," he barks and gets up, the dog following on his heels. I glare at his cold back and flip the television to the first one. I sigh. It's in English.


	5. Chapter 5

I can't imagine what today will be like, probably sit and twiddle my thumbs, considering what yesterday was. I don't know why he even wanted me to come; all I am and will be is a hassle. His world though, is obviously much different than mine, so perhaps he sees things differently. I rub the sleep from my eyes in the bathroom and quickly wash my face and brush hair and teeth. As I walk into the kitchen, Hans is up and waiting for me.

"Good morning, Nicole."

"Hello," I respond cautiously. What with the funk he stormed off in last night, it makes me worried he's in such a cheery mood today.

"Due to your complaints last night that you have nothing to do here, I have complied a list off the jobs I need doing, and you are to complete them before you go to bed tonight. After all, if there's nothing to do here, it shouldn't take too long to finish." He slides a slip of lined paper across the table. The writing is in German.

"Seriously? You know I can't read this."

"Yes, well it is about time you start. I'll give you a few hints. First on the list is making me breakfast." I glare at him and grab some eggs out of the fridge and hunt around for a bit for a pan.

"Coffee, too," he orders. I ignore this for as long as possible before finally heeding this new request. From my serving, breakfast is only mediocre, but I had to work with, literally, foreign tools. We eat in silence.

"What next?" I grumble at him.

"Last give away, shovel the back porch. You can borrow some of mine," he shoots down the protest before it leaves my lips on the lack of snow gear. I throw on many layers and grab a shovel from the garage. Throwing an "I-Hate-You-With-Every-Fiber-of –My-Being" look at him as I leave the back door, I get to work. It takes a while because the surface is very grooved and it is a big surface area, and it doesn't help I haven't seen the boundaries with out snow. Just when I think I'm done, I'll realize I threw snow down with two feet left to go. At one point, the dog comes out and seems to consider mauling me, but instead craps on the cleanest part of the porch. All in all, I shovel the better part of the morning, especially considering I slept until nine. I come back in the house cold and tired.

"What next," I bark at him while taking off the oversized snow gear.

"Can't say," he tells me in German. I stomp off to the list and give it a go. I have no clue.

"C'mon, Hans, this isn't fair! I can only speak a little German and I have never seen much spelled. It's hard enough as it is!" He gives me an indifferent look.

"What's the, as the Americans call it, magic word?"

"Please?" He gives one nod.

"Dust the bookshelves," he reads to me. Feeling so relived, I smile at him and skip to work. More on the list is make lunch, clean out the fridge, _clean_ the fridge, dust the cabinets, feed the dog, sweep the downstairs, vacuum the living room, scrub the bathroom, clean the table, do the laundry, clean off the fur on the couch cushions, organize the pans, glasses, silverware, clean the counters, clean the stove top, make dinner, wash the dishes, wash the windows, and make my bed. It is two in the morning when I finish all that, and I was working diligently. He threatened to kill me if I woke him up after he went to bed at nine thirty so I had to be slow and quiet. At least he can't make me do anything tomorrow. With a murderous thought in his direction, I plop on the bed and fall asleep.


	6. Chapter 7

I wake up from the sun coming through the window in my room. I'm not even under the covers, I fell asleep before I could crawl under them. I walk into the kitchen after a short morning routine. Magically, today the dog only raises its head from its paws in protest to my presence. Amazingly, breakfast is already made.

"Decided not to make me your slave today, I see," to top it off I say it in flawless German. He is clearly startled. He must have been really into the article.

"I did not expect you would be awake yet." he carefully folds the newspaper and turns to face me.

"Yes, well it would be a good idea to invest in some blinds for my window then. The thin shade isn't really doing it for me."

"I'll add that to the long list of your petty complaints," he says with that cocky smirk of his that tells me better even than his harsh tone that he doesn't give a damn. I roll my eyes and reach for breakfast. His hand snaps out like a snake and clenches my wrist.

"Not until all the chores are done."

"They are," I inform him, perhaps a little too harshly.

"You never swept," he voices coldly.

"That wasn't on the list," I point out to him, withdrawing my arm and crossing them across my chest.

"That's right, it wasn't, but it should have been. So you can do it now," he orders. I make very eloquent string of swear words under my breath at him which he pretends not to hear. I quickly sweep the kitchen while my stomach growls loudly. I know I must be paranoid but I can swear he's watching every movement I make. I finish and tuck the broom away but he commands that I take Ardal out first. I open the door to the patio and he runs through. The disappointed look on his face indicates he's run out of jobs. I quickly begin making up a plate. Then the door bell rings as I am shoving scrambled eggs in my mouth. We both just look at each other.

"Come here," he whispers, dragging me up by my arm and forcefully puts me in the laundry room, shoving my plate at me. "Don't leave here until I come and get you, or the first thing I do when I see you is shoot, understand?" I nod slowly and he shuts the heavy door. I hear him answer the door and I'm shocked to hear a woman's voice. I can distinguish words but I can tell that Hans is happy to see her but worried, most likely about me being discovered. She sounds...incredibly desperate. There's no other way to describe it. Her voice is ridiculously breathy and low. A poor shot at seductively speaking. I press my ear to the door, incredibly curious.

"It's been a while, Hans," she mentions, sighing his name.

"Yes, very long, far too long." he responds in similar tones. What the hell? He's going for this? I risk cracking the door open, maybe she's incredibly pretty, that would explain it.

"I heard you had gotten back. I couldn't wait to see you, I hope you don't mind me coming over so soon."

"Oh no, not at all. It's always a _pleasure _to see you." She's giggling. Yep, giggling. And thankfully has her back the door, which unfortunately means Hans is facing me. "Would you like some coffee," he asks her kindly enough, pulling out the chair he had been sitting in for her, which keeps her gaze away from the door. He's sneaking glares at me but won't do anything more, probably worried to call attention to that direction. She shrugs off her floor length fur coat, revealing nothing more than a red hot g string.

"Let's skip coffee today," she suggests, "I'm a little short on time."

"Whatever you wish," he says as if in a trance staring at her completely exposed breasts. I'm glad her back is to me. She's obviously older and uses tanning beds. She's got frizzled choppy bleached blonde hair and a ton of cellulite on the backs if her thighs. I roll my eyes. My body is 1000x better than hers, yet he doesn't look at me like that. Which I remind myself is a good thing. She begins clumsily undressing him and gets down to unbuttoning his shirt while he's passionately kissing her and his hands are all over her essentially nude body but before I can be scared by anything else I shut the door and quell the strange, unidentified feeling bubbling in my stomach.

A short while later I hear the bed begin to creak and she's yelling out. "Harder! Faster! Go deeper! Fuck me, Hans, really fuck me!" I hear some baritone grunts and moans. The creaks increase in volume and frequency. "That's it! O god Hans that's amazing! Fantastic! Keep going-Oh, Lord - keep going!" she pants in German. After about ten minutes of me desperately trying to shut out the sounds of their love making he gives one last loud moan which she drowns out by screeching like a howler monkey. She makes climaxing seem unpleasant. In no more than two minutes I hear them by the front door, the rustle as she puts her coat back on and a smack as she gives Hans one more kiss.

"Same time next week?" his deep voice asks.

"Oh, God, yes. You always know just how to please a woman. Next time I'll being my whip." With that perverted last comment the door opens and closes. He comes over to the room and flings the door open to my bemused expression and judgmental eyes.

"I don't want to hear a word from you about what just happened," he harshly orders me.

"Honestly, Hans," I say breathily, mimicking his visitor, "you just had an orgasm, shouldn't you be in a better mood?" I swiftly walk out of the room and plop down at the table, hiding my grin with my hand. It appears I've left him speechless; he doesn't move for a moment and then jerkily resumes his composure. I resume my breakfast.

He walks to the table and sips his coffee and resumes reading his newspaper.

"So," I begin, taking advantage of the situation to needle Hans like he has to me in the past, "how do you know your friend?" I ask, delicately stressing her title. He makes an unappreciative face at me over the paper but I can tell he's going to answer my question.

"Not that it is any of your business, but, she lives down the street. A few years back we had a minor car accident, no damage, but we became aquatinted and our relationship developed into one solely of," he hesitates, searching for a term so I offer one.

"Sex buddies?" My god, did he just...blush?

"I was going to say mutual release, actually. Neither of us desire the emotional commitment or stress of a relationship but the physical perks are hard to go without." This is the most talkative he's ever been. Maybe he feels he owes me an explanation after I was forced to listen to their act.

"I got the impression this is a regular thing, no?"

"That's correct."

"In that case, I'm begging you to supply me with earplugs next time." Inwardly I laugh at Hans' embarrassment but stay stoic outwardly. But I also pity him, because I think sex is a private matter, and I'm guessing he does too, but it no longer is for him and his partner.

"I had not intended for it to be so loud, but I couldn't exactly ask her to be quieter for the sake of the hostage in my laundry room." The words exit my mouth before my brain can stop them.

"Hun, you weren't the most volume conscious either." This gets him. As much as I can tell, which is only a small wince and an unnecessary adjustment of his shirt.

"Ear plugs it is," he grumbles.

"In case of future situations, is there anyone else in your life you have a similar relationship with?"

"No; only her." I nod.

"Good to know." I clear both our dishes and open the door for Ardal before he orders me to. A large streak of fur comes charging past me along with a shiver inducing gust of wind.

"In an abrupt change of subject, if I will be staying with you for the foreseeable future, I would like to get more clothes. More specifically warmer ones."

"Very well. I need to go shopping soon anyways. Write a list of foods you'd like and include your measurements."

"What?" I snap at him, bewildered.

"Do you want your new clothes to fit or not? The sizes here are different from America's."

"Oh, right."

"I'll go tomorrow afternoon," he informs me before picking up the paper and resuming his read. I get halfway down the hallway to my room before he calls to me to wipe down the table and clean the pans he made breakfast in. I roll eyes but return and offer no other complaint. When I get to my room I plop down on the bed and crawl under the musty sheets. Without trying I fall asleep despite the bright sunlight.

When I stir my clock tells me it's slightly past noon. I stretch feeling well-rested for the first time in over a month. I walk out to the kitchen again. Hans is in the living room watching a movie on the television. I get myself a glass of water and lay on the love seat. Ardal comes bounding over from Hans' feet as if to inspect me. I stroke his head. He flops onto his belly and I scratch it distractedly while watching the show. It's in German but I am picking up pieces.

"I'd like some pasta for lunch," he tells me. I stare blankly at him for a few seconds before I realize that's an order. I'm still not used to this whole I-serve-him thing. Reluctantly, I get off the couch and begin fumbling around in the pantry and cabinets.

"Keep the noise down," he calls from his chair. I roll my eyes but comply and much as my task allows. While I wait for it to boil I write down some of my favorite foods and snacks, hopefully they'll have something similar here. I add my measurements for hips, waist, and chest without issue because I monitored those closely after I became paranoid about gaining weight. I estimate my leg length and stick the piece of paper on the fridge. Pasta is finished, as it drains I fill Ardals bowl which he runs over to munch on. I stroke his back.

"The food is ready," I inform him. He makes no move to get up. "Do you want me to bring it to you?" I sigh. He turns his head around to look at me.

"What do you think?" he spits out. Casting a glare at the back of his head, I pile some bow tie pasta on a plate, add grated cheese and some red sauce and bring over a napkin and fork. I feel humiliated bringing him is food. I'm like a god damn slave. I set it on his lap and he doesn't bother to even thank me. Hungrily I make myself a plate but before I can indulge he calls me over.

"My feet are sore, I'd like a massage." He sticks his sock clad feet out and wiggles his toes. I inch away, appalled.

"Umm...no." His golden eyes flash with rage.

"What?" he hisses.

"Sorry, but I don't do feet. Backs, hands, sure, but please, please, not feet."

"Why the hell not?" he barks.

"They're disgusting." I shiver at the idea of them.

"That's too bad for you because I gave you a task and I expect it to be completed." He eyes me dangerously and I sigh. If he insists I don't really have a choice. Feeling like a fool I kneel on the carpet before him and tentatively begin to touch his feet.

"Socks off," he adds and I groan.

"It'll be fine with them on, I'm sure."

"Oh, so am I, but how can I pass up such an opportunity. Especially after our wonderful conversation earlier." He _would_ take revenge for that. Wrinkling my nose I tug off the remaining barrier. He grins down from his chair. The sense of inferiority and servitude is overwhelming from down here. Feeling sick my fingers begin to press and rub his left foot. I try and recreate massages I've gotten in the past, rubbing the sides, arches especially, heel, working back up, the ball and then each toe. I'm surprised to hear him sigh and lean his body back, lunch forgotten on his lap. I move to the next one, disgusted but also a little proud I'm doing well. My hands are very tired but I say nothing, knowing he'd probably make me do it again. I stand and mutter 'you're welcome' as I pass through the kitchen. The clank of his fork means he resumed eating.

"I know this must sadden you terribly but I'm going to take a shower so you won't be able to order me around for a little bit." I stalk off before he can tell me no or make me do another chore. The warm water soothes my tension and despite the dirty grout and dingy curtain it's cleaner than some of the motels we stayed at so I appreciate it. It feels good to be all cleaned up; I haven't showered since the day before my flight.

Stepping out of the shower I wrap a dark green towel, which is a little too small for my taste, around myself. I left all my clothes in my room so I'm going to have to prance in the nude over there. I can hear the television playing so I think it's safe to assume he won't be nearby. I crack the door open and instantly shiver. The heat from the shower had warmed the bathroom and made the temperature of the rest of the house a distant memory. Hans keeps it pretty cold.

Despite my shivers I walk through, only to trip over the mound of fur that was resting outside the door. My face is speeding towards the nearby wall. Instinctively, my hands lash out to stop my fall, the towel unraveling in the process. The hallway was too narrow for me to stop before a collision, my shoulder slams into the wall and my head bumps it as I slide down. Ardal is yapping at me. He must have been soaking up the heat from the crack at the bottom of the doorway.

"What's going on over there?" Hans' irritated voice asks.

"N-nothing. I tripped." Despite my explanation, I hear his footsteps approach. I scramble to replace my towel, but Ardal has shifted on it. In a panic I try tugging it out from under him. It doesn't budge. Acutely aware of Hans' progress and my nakedness, I wrestle the towel out from under the fluffy beast. As I am standing fully upright and hastily wrapping the fabric around my torso Hans turns the corner.

He runs a judgmental eye over the scene. My hair is dripping all over the hard wood floor and there are flecks and streaks of water on the wall. Puddles of water are pooling at my feet. An edge of the towel in covered in dog hair. The very same towel which his dog is now under the impression is part of a game. He is hopping up and trying to tug at the edge, which really doesn't help me keep it in place. One of my hands grips the fabric to my body while the other is trying to swat Ardal away. He takes a far longer look than necessary at said towel, which stops mid thigh and mid chest. My legs are crossed at the ankle.

"What happened here?" he asks suspiciously but also with poorly suppressed amusement at my predicament with the dog. His eyes run over my bare, Goosebump-covered legs.

"I tripped over your damn dog and fell."

"Is he alright?" he asks with concern, kneeling by the dog and patting down his thick body. Still, I hastily back up and press the front edge of the towel down in case there was an ulterior motive. I see him roll his eyes.

"I'm sure he's fine," I tell Hans in a bored tone. The dog happily pants, sitting on his haunches, and eyeing the towel.

"Come, Ardal," the dog reluctantly stands to leave the towel and walks to the end of the hallway. "Get dressed and clean this mess up," he sharply commands before turning to walk away.

"I'm fine, in case you were concerned," I call to his retreating back. He makes no comment. I sulk off to my room where I quickly put on the warmest clothes. While I am mopping up the water puddles I hear him approach and see his sock clad feet before me.

"Yes?" I greet him, barely looking up.

"Just so you know, I have no interest in seeing your…parts," he curtly comments while sneering down at me.

"I was just being cautious," I reply in similar tones. "Wouldn't want you seeing them accidently either," I huff, gracefully standing, the very wet towel in my hand. I give him a fake, forced smile and push past him, checking his side on my way to the laundry room. He mutters something derogatory in German towards me and walks off.

At the top of the rubbish bin, which he keeps next to the garage door, I see today's newspaper, the very one that had him so transfixed. I sneak a look at the headlines.

"_Cats on the loose," _not likely, "_Rioters in London," _still meh, "_Nakatomi plaza hostages insist terrorist/robbers still alive,"_ there we go. I glace to see if Hans is nearby and then snatch the paper out of the trash. I silently creep back to my room, shut the door, and begin to peruse the German article.


	7. Chapter 8

_Police officer Jon McClane, a very notable and well publicized figure since the incident, has expressed doubts that all the terrorists are truly dead. Himself credited with the majority of the success in stopping the unnamed men and many of the kills, certainly should know. Deputy Dwaine Robinson of the Los Angeles police department has mad e clear his disdain for McClane's claims and had this to tell a local reporter, "Mcclane is a loose cannon, that's for sure. I've said it before and I'll say it again, his methods are dangerous and uncertain. He put everyone at risk up there. This ordeal took place for nearly eleven hours, it's only natural for things, especially at the end, to go fuzzy and become confused. I assure you, we've been digging through rubble for over a month, had there been an indication of a terrorist's escape, my people would have found it. And had they escaped, there would be an indication." _

_Despite the certainty of the deputy, McClane's wife stands by her husband's story, as does the limo driver who had also been minorly involved in fighting the terrorists. As for the missing valuables and money, Robinson made no comment, unable to confirm the dollar value due to uncertainty and insurance claims of the Nakatomi Corporation. _

_"It definitely has caused a stir in our company policies and opinions. Should something similar happen again, in any of our headquarters, we have set up a procedure and precautions," the chairman said, also expressing sadness over the loss of Mr. Takagi. Today, a second memorial service, that the entire city was welcome at, was held for every life lost during the raid, including those of the unidentified terrorists. _

_"It's part of the healing process. If we can't forgive them, who are we to be forgiven for our misdeeds," the secretary of Mrs. McClane wisely told us. Although this miserable deed Occurred miles and countries away, it is a wise lesson to learn. Worth mentioning is it is suspected many o them had German origins, and therefore, despite the deputy's assurances all terrorists were killed, it is a good idea to be wary, and on the look out for anyone matching the descriptions given of the possible, though incredibly unlikely survivors; Hans Gruber, Karl ..., and Theo ... Our condolences to the loved ones of the lost and our love and prayers to the survivors_.

I put the paper down and slide it under my bed. Thank the gods for this McClane man! I pray he doesn't lose faith in himself and keeps pushing this idea. No wonder Hans was so absorbed in this article. There is a suspicion he is alive. That suspicion is all I need. As long as people keep what happened in the front of their mind there is still a chance of catching him. I sigh with relief and pump my fist on the air a few times. No wonder this had Hans so worried, people are looking for him. Also, the bonds will take longer to clear and become a distant memory and no longer instantly suspicious. This, unfortunately, means longer time spent in this frigid hell. I doubt Hans will take me to his final destination, most likely a secluded island or something similar, and hopefully that means I go home. It also could mean, and the thought makes me shiver more than the temperature, that he'll kill me. By the time he is moving out, the chances of him being caught will be zero, and therefore I will have outlived my purpose as a security measure had the policed managed to track him. I block out such thoughts and return to the kitchen.

Hans must be in his room because he's not here. The TV is off and I have no desire to channel flip and hope something good and understandable is on. So instead, lacking any other hobby, or resources, I take a paper napkin and the pen I used earlier and begin sketching out a Sudoku grid. In the empty grid I begin filling in numbers, creating my own puzzle. Ardal comes over at one point and sits beneath the table. I happily use him as a foot warmer, sliding my toes slightly under his belly. I make about five before I grow too weary of the game.

For a foolish second I ponder finding Hans and asking him if he wants to play a card game. I dismiss the idea because that might get me shot. But that I even considered it is a sign of how desperate I am. I decide to try playing a game Adral wanted to earlier. I grab a nasty, old, torn rag from the oven handle and dangle it in front of the German shepherd's muzzle. He gleefully tries to snap it from my hand but I jerk it away. Bounding to his feet, and out from the table we continue this chase around the kitchen, his claws scratching around on the floor and sometimes he releases a bark. I'm laughing, finally having a playmate, I let him snatch an end in his mouth. We both tug, him shaking his head slightly and growling in a non-threatening way.

"What are you doing?" Hans angrily quires, for the second time today, storming through his doorway and into the kitchen.

"Ardal and I were just playing," I calmly explain, the dishtowel still taught between me and the dog. I drop my end and he greedily shuffles away and gnaws on it.

"Why do I feel like you're trying your best to make as much noise in every situation as possible?"

"Because you're paranoid and debatably a psychopath?" I sarcastically respond.

"Me being 'debatably psychotic,'" he emphasizes using finger quotes, "has nothing to do with you being loud."

"I know, I just thought I'd take the opportunity to point my suspicion about that out." He sneers.

"Well I'll have you know, I am neither paranoid nor psychotic."

"Darn," I snap my fingers, "and I was so sure I could commit you to a mental institution and just be done with this whole thing."

"Just start making dinner."

"It's barely three thirty," I exclaim.

"I am aware, thank you." I say nothing and wait for his eyes to stop glaring at me. Eventually they do and he continues. "But to properly roast a turkey you need at least three hours, so I suggest you get to work. And while that cooks you should make the steamed carrots and green beans, toast the dinner rolls, and warm up the leftover pasta."

"Do you have a recipe for this turkey?"

"There is a cook book on top of the fridge I suggest you use." He turns on his heel and returns to his room. Ardal looks up at me, holding the towel out as if to console me with it. I pet him for a minute before starting on the extensive dinner order Hans gave. I hum and sing as softly as possible, afraid my musical entertainment would be criticized or forbidden if he heard. While dinner cooks I play with Ardal some more and channel flip for a bit. When dinner is finally ready, I knock softly on Hans' door.

"Yes?" he sharply answers. I cautiously turn the knob and take a few steps in, unsure if me entering his room is permitted. He's sitting on his bed reading a leather-bound book. His dark eyes peer at me over his glasses.

"I didn't know you had glasses," say amused. Where is all this word-vomit coming from today? He gives me a blank look.

"Was there something important you wanted to say or did you just come in here to bother me?" I blush a little.

"Yes, actually, dinner's ready. Do you want to eat it at the table or should I bring to you here?" I meekly ask.

"Excellent. I will take it at the table, actually. Set the table and I'll be out shortly. Also, I'd like a bottle of the red wine that I keep in the garage, go get it and show it to me," I give a slight nod and retreat out the doorway, for some reason feeling incredibly shaken up. I do as he says and the continue presenting everything. As I'm dancing around the kitchen from the table, to the stove, and utensil drawer I set everything up.

" _Everything comes naturally when you're with me. Everything comes naturally, it comes naturally, ba-ba-baby. When we collide sparks fly_-," I sing, shutting the drawer with my hip and turn to find a gleeful Hans standing at the table. My voice sputters out and the forks in my hand clatter to the floor. I'm thankful for the reason to drop out of our eye contact. With fumbling hands pick up the forks and wipe them off on my shirt. I clear my throat. Hastily I place the forks in my hands on the table.

"Dinner is served," I tell him and hurry out of the room to hide in mine.

"Aren't you going to eat anything?" he calls to me, the amusement still clear in his voice. I freeze.

"I will." I turn to leave, shocked for once he paid attention to me, but he walks up very close to me and blocks my path.

"Eat now," he commands. I swallow.

"Of course, master," I mutter, turning back to the kitchen and serve myself.

"So, now we both have seen each other in less than formal circumstances," he softly mentions, his eyes shining as he swirls his glass of wine.

"Funny how things work out like that," I tensely reply. He makes no more comments about the earlier scene which I very grateful for. His head nods to my glass of water.

"This is excellent wine, here you are of age to drink it, wouldn't you like some?" he seems sincere.

"Thanks, but I don't like wine." He raises an eyebrow. "My parents let me have sips of their glasses before," I explain.

"Very well." We eat the rest of the meal in silence and fading daylight. I begin cleaning up the mess from making dinner while he sips his wine at the table, pensivly staring off through the patio French doors.

"Whatcha thinking about?" I ask impulsively while I'm up to my elbows in soap suds cleaning out a pot. Normally I would travel my own thought path but I've done that enough the past month. I had been watching Hans very closely ever since he first kidnapped me and I've deducted there is a lot going on in his mind, and I've also realized I'd like to know what it is. He doesn't respond for a long while then starts and swivels in his chair towards me.

"Excuse me, did you say something?" he seems slightly dazed. Ive been there too so I say nothing about it.

"Yes, i asked what it was you were thinking about," I quietly repeat still scrubbing the dishes and watching him in the reflection in the window. There's no one here but him, me, and the dog and therefore no buddies to look tough in front of so hopefully he'll be more open and won't mind me asking. He gives a sliver of a smile.

"Plotting, actually."

"Oh?" i chirp, hoping he'll see it as an indication to continue. He chuckles and his gleaming eyes dart over me as if seeing me for the first time.

"In fact, i was plotting our escape." i turn the water off and dry my hands while turning to face him.

"'Our'? I just want to be sure I heard that correctly."

"Yes, our. Unless at that time you have no desire to accompany me and i am satisfied i could return you to your life and you wouldnt inform the police of my survival."

"You'd trust me not to do that?"

"Probably not, no."

"Then why is it an option?" he shrugs and pours another glass of wine. He takes a sip and i dont expect an answer but he suprises me and supplies one.

"No reason to eliminate the possibility. That wouldnt be fair to you." I scoff.

"When have you ever been fair to me?" i ask the scorn heavy in my voice.

"I haven't killed you," he retorts like lightening. "And lord knows you've given me pleanty of reasons to in the past." I think back to the beginning of my captivity and what he says it true, he had threatened to kill me if I tried to escape, and foolishly, a few times I did. As I see now, he kindly did not go through with his threat. I was in a desperate place and did not care, at the time, if he executed me. Instead, he slapped me around a bit and slammed me into walls. At the time it seemed cruel but I now see he was doing me a kindness. And he never broke anything in me, just a collection of bruises and tender muscles for a few days after. I realize how long I was reminiscing and jump back to the present.

"Er, yes, I suppose that was mercy, but I don't think that falls under 'fair' necessarily, which isn't to discount how much I appreciated you neglecting to follow through on your threats." He folds his arms and purses lips.

"What, then, fits your definition of fairness?" I consider this.

"I suppose being treated as an equal," I quietly answer. He has no perceptible reaction, but his tone is much harsher than before when he comments.

"You are a hostage, not an equal." I jump back a little at his words.

"I am still a person," I indignantly exclaim, anger coursing through me.

"And have I violated any Human rights laws during your 'stay' with me?" he shoots back, just as sharply.

"No, but-"

"Just because you're a human doesn't make you equal to me," his voice has dropped to a vey dangerous volume.

"So that's how you get away with killing people, with that egotistical delusion? _I__s_ anyone your equal, oh-great-and-mighty Hans Gruber?" I spit. He jumps out of the chair, sending it toppling back, and lunges across the room to me. I shuffle back as much as I can but quickly become pressed against the edge of the island counter top. He leans down, one arm pressed to either side of me, and I bend backwards.

"You would be wise NOT to try my patience, Nicole." I swallow and turn my face away from his flashing, enraged eyes. The alcohol is sickly sweet on his breath.

"I'm sorry," I mutter, hoping that will be enough to calm him and closing my eyes and cowering against the structure, preparing for the blow I am certain will come.

"Don't test me," he reminds me, a note of almost pleading in his tone. I sense his body move away from mine and hear his steps retreat. The tension doesn't leave my body until I hear the snap of his door. I make a major exhale and slide down to the floor. Ardal scampers over an whinnies through his nose and sloppily licks my face. I right the chair he knocked over and recork the over half empty wine bottle, sticking it in the fridge. Gradually I calm down, though the regret for my words and original attempt to break through his walls overwhelms me while I continue cleaning. The thought crosses my mind that I am trying to make the kitchen shine as an attempt to dilute his rage.

When I'm done, its incredibly dark out and I'm craving sleep. I fly to my bed and fall asleep almost immediately.


	8. Chapter mixed up number

I wake up to the sun streaming through my window. Thankfully last night my sleep was dreamless. Not wanting to get up and face Hans, or the present, I roll over and try to catch a few more minutes of rest, if sleep won't come. Finally, knowing I can't hide in bed all day, I loudly do my routine in the bathroom so I won't accidentally surprise Hans and nervously exit the safety of privacy where I could show my emotions plainly.

"Good morning," I timidly greet him. His sharp eyes flick to me and then to the snow covered ground outside. "I wanted to apologize for what I said last night," I begin but he interrupts.

"Save your breath." I blink rapidly a few times, deeply upset my his remark.

"Well, have you eaten? Don't you at least want breakfast?"

"I'm afraid my appetite has been quite completely spoiled, thank you." he storms out of the kitchen, taking his coffee mug with him and locking his door. I sigh and make myself some toast, popping a few extra slices in incase he changes his mind. That went well. I sigh and languidly turn on the television, nothing good is on so I mindlessly watch an infomercial for an half an hour before stumbling a German version of crime shows. I can't understand much, but I can tell by body language, facial Expression, and tone the gist of what's being communicated. At the climax the telephone starts ringing, drowning out what is being said.

"Hans!" I call after I heard no stir from his room. The phone is on a cord so I can't bring it to him or set it by his door. I could answer it, but that may be a no-no and I'd rather not break a rule right now. I get up and bang on the wall shared by the living room and his bedroom.

"What?" he barks, flinging his door open if the slam I heard is any indication.

"The phone," I curtly inform him as it gives one last whining ring. He races for it but doest reach it in time.

"Who was it?" I ask, peering over his shoulder as he checks the caller ID. He glares at me as an answer while he redials the number.

"Guten tag," he warmly says into the receiver. Their conversation is pretty brief. I pick up most of it, and fear fills my belly when I decipher who he's talking to. A time is arranged, one hour from now, and he hangs up.

"Karl?" I ask.

"Obviously." If he can get here in one hour, he probably doesn't live far away. "I'd recommend you start on dinner, I was a stew, slow roasted in a crock pot."

"Recipe in the book?" he nods and leaves. I finish to show and get started. In what seems like no time at all, the doorbell rings and I'm filled with dread. Alone. With Karl. In a house with no close neighbors and plenty of beds.

Hans answer the door and I near the exchange hellos and Hans thanks him for keeping watch over me while he's gone. They walk to the kitchen and I don't glance up from my task. "Hullo, Nicole," Karl says, the tone of desire buried, but present.

"Hi," I reply, knowing Hans expects me to be cordial and trying to keep my voice from shaking.

"I should only be gone an hour or so, Karl, the tv is yours to use, if you want anything, just ask Nicole. And Nicole," his eagle sharp eyes narrow at me, "I expect you to be nothing but obedient to Karl, he has the same authority over you that I do." I nod once to show I understand, yet knowing there are some requests Karl could give I won't comply with.

"I'd like the cabinet and fridge doors wiped down by the time I'm back too. Thanks again, Karl."

"Anytime, man." Hans grabs his keys and leaves. I turn my back on Karl and return to making dinner. He stands there for a while before I hear him plop into the lazy boy and I forcefully exhale. I finish the preparation and set it to simmer then start wiping down the wooden cabinet doors. I hear the chair swivel and in the reflection of a door I spot him staring at me and his hand moving in his jeans. I gasp and blush, working diligently to shut out what he's doing from my mind. And me, he's staring at ME. I finish my job and planned on getting the hell out of here but the timer for the food goes so I am forced to stay a little longer.

"I'm hungry, make me a sandwich, bitch," he tells me. I was goig to whip around And reprimand him but I recall his filthy activity in time and instead make no comment and comply. I don't want to accidentally see his manhood.

"What do you want on it?" he gives me his order and I put it on a table. Finally I escape to my room, sliding the dresser in front of the door to act as a lock. I hear the timer buzz again, which thankfully means, if Hans' estimate of an hour was accurate, that I have only a few more minutes before Hans returns. As I'm adjusting the temperature and adding spices, Karl walks up behind me.

"You have to obey me," Karl's deep voice reminds me from very close behind me. His hand falls hard down on my rear and I jump. "You have to give me anything I want." His arms wrap around my abdomen from behind me and his chin rests on the top on my head. "Do you know what I want?" He doesn't wait for any response I'd give. "Your pussy." I try to lunge out of his arms but he pulls me closer and flips my shirt up to my bra rubbing his hands over by bare skin, pushing his finger tips below the waist band of my pants and underwear.

"Karl, get off of me," I weakly command. He softly shushes me and pulls me closer, tightening his muscular arms around me, and begins grinding his pelvis against the small of my back. I feel his hardening cock begin to rise and his lips tease my ear from behind. His fingers skillfully and rapidly undo the my jeans and Slip into the folds of my sex. I angrily push his hands away and move my body away from his lustful grip.

"Don't touch me," I strongly order him as the garage door grinds open. He seems to recognize his limits now that Hans is back and he retreats back to the living room and I clean up his plate.

"Nicole, get the rest of the groceries in from the car," he immediately orders while he carries in two brown paper bags himself. I quickly do as he says, happy to be free of Karl.

"How was she?" Hans asks.

"A bit of a bitch, tried to overpower me and escape once, but nothing I couldn't handle." That bastard! It totally figures he'd lie to get revenge for me rejecting him. I expect to hear him angrily summon me and give me, at the least, a verbal lashing, but he makes no audible comment.

I'm ecstatic when I see the bag of clothes, but my excitement quickly fades. They're plain, solid coloured thick, long sleeve tee shirts and a few stripped sweaters. Hans didn't go for the fashionable, thats for sure. Probably too lazy to try, but I suppose it could also be because he didn't know what I'd like so neutral was better. A part of me hopes he put enough thought into it that it is the latter possibility, but more than likely he grabbed the first things he found. I drop the grocery bags and carry my clothes bag in my room before returning and putting the groceries away.

Karl and Hans have been discussing, in German, the ramifications of Jon McClane's accusations and how it will affect how they'll smuggle the stolen money and bonds out and into untraceable accounts. I eavesdrop for as long as I can by slowly and quietly putting the new food in the refrigerator. At some point their conversation moves to me.

"The three plane tickets can be taken from my account-"

"Three?" Karl quickly interrupts him.

"Yes, three. I'm taking Nicole with me." Karl gives him a searching look.

"Why? She'll be a risk to you, a danger of exposure. She would inform the police instantly given the opportunity."

"I don't know about that, actually."

"Look, Hans, it'll be easier to kill her, leave her body in a ditch somewhere, untraceable. you can stop worrying about when she's going to contact the police. At the moment, she is useful, but not forever. There will come a point when she is a burden. I'll admit the service and the view is addictive, but she's also a danger."

"I don't know why you're so invested in her death, at the point you are discussing we will have separated and she won't know where you've gone, she poses no risk to you."

"Hans, I'm your friend, I'm concerned about you. And she could still tell that I'm alive and start a search for me. You never know how these things can happen."

"For now, my decision is she lives. Things can change, but until they do, that is the position I take, and you will do nothing to intervene with my choice." Karl nods. I'm so relieved that Hans wasn't angered enough to plan to kill me I could hug him. Unfortunetly, if I did that, he probably would kill me.

Eventually Karl leaves after a very long time talking with Hans which I spent in my room trying on my new clothes and organizing them and sporadically checking on dinner. I'm very pleased with the fit of the clothes and they are very warm. The jeans are in a variety of styles, flair, bootcut, and skinny, and they all fit as well. At the bottom of the bag I am overjoyed to find a sudoku book. Maybe he does pay attention. But I stop that ludicrous thought before it can go further. As I'm making a load of laundry Karl walks out the door after a lecherous look into the laundry room. His car starts up in the driveway and I can breath freely once more.

"Would you like lunch?" I sweetly ask, in a much better mood after getting more clothes and now that Karl has left. He quickly begins gathering the papers on the table and I pretend not to notice his rush to conceal them.

"No, thank you, I ate while I was out. And Nicole, I wish to apologize for my rude behavior earlier today, it was immature."

"I greatly appreciate you saying that, but it's very unnecessary, the original fault laid with me. It was not my intention to push you and I'll make an effort not to in the future. Onto a less tense subject, I assume the suduko book is for me?"

"Yes, I thought you might enjoy it, seeing how there is no language barrier."

"Thank you, that was very considerate of you." he nods, a trace of a smile on his lips.

"The clothes fit excellently, by the way, you did well," I compliment him while making myself a snack for lunch.

"I had to get help from a worker. I explained they were for my niece who had lost her belongings in a fire."

"And was that a prepared line or one made up on the spot?"

"Guess," he Teases me.

"I say you knew you may have to supply a story so had an idea of what to say, but the exact details were spontaneously created."

"I'm impressed with your precision." I laugh a little. "what's funny?" he questions.

"Our conversation. It's so...not what I'm used to." he blinks a few times, startled.

"What would you be discussing instead?"

"I suppose I misspoke. Its not the topic of conversation that is unusual, its how we discuss it." He gives me a confused look and i struggle to explain how it is different.

"The only way i can describe is that were both waiting for the other to do something that will set us off. It's tenuous and a tad uncivil." he digests this.

"I don think I'm waiting for that, but I certainly expect it, no offense."

"That's okay, because I'm doing the same thing." he chuckles a little and for some reason I'm incredibly proud of that.

"Something has been weighing on me," he begins and I'm instantly concerned but a little happy. I'm glad he actually has been giving me thought but I've assumed he's going to accuse me of something bad. "Today, Karl told me you had acted out."

"Yes, I heard him tell you that." I don't want to accuse him of lying because I have no proof and it's obvious they are friends, I don't think Hans would appreciate me calling him a liar.

"What did you do?" well I'm not going to lie for his lie, that's for sure.

"Nothing," I quickly tell him, glad for the opportunity to speak the truth. "I caused no trouble and didn't even think about trying to escape."

"I suspected as much. I had a very strong sense he was lying. But why would he say you did? And why didn't you speak out?" I'm not about to talk to Hans about how he tried to touch me, and had successfully touched me before.

"I have no idea why he'd lie about it, probably his sadistic side wanted me punished. As for why I didn't tell you, it would have been my word against his and I didn't think you'd take my side over your friend's." he shrugs.

"Normally, no, but his demeanor as askew."

"I'm glad you were perceptive to that."

"And your sure you have no ideas about why he'd lie about that?"

"Absolutely none," I lie, both hoping he see the lie and doesn't. He makes no comment and continues brushing the papers he and Karl were examining earlier together and carrying them off to his room, taking care I don see their contents.

The rest of the day is dull, dull, dull, but I try to find something to fill my time. In fact, I even dusted without him ordering me to and didn't mind doing it. I think the stew is ready so I step up the bowls and take care of Ardal before finding Hans for dinner. We eat in as pleasant a silence as possible. I learned early in my captivity that if he didn't start a conversation, he doesn't want to have one. And despite my uneasiness with silence when others are around I've grown to cope with it better.

"Are you done?" I ask at some point and clear his dishes.

"Hans, would you like to play a card game?" I ask before he leaves. Кляты

"What game?" he asks slowly, obviously unsure if he should, or even wants to, play.

"War, double solitaire, those are the only ones I know to be good with two people." I'm suddenly very nervous he will reject my offer.

"Alright, I guess. I feel war would be appropriate." I don't know if that was a joke, but it makes me laugh anyways. "the cards are-"

"In the drawer below the microwave. I know, I played solitaire earlier." I get them out and let him shuffle and find myself captivated by the graceful movements of his long fingers. He hands me my pile and I shake myself slightly and look into his face to find a peculiar expression there. He doesn't mention my transfiction on his hands and I am grateful. I keep my eyes away from them the rest of the game, during which we don't speak of matters outside of playful, competitive banter and bets. We play two games, Each winning one. I get a post it note and make two columns, one with an h above it, the other an n. I put a tally in each.

"A score card, if you don't mind. We could keep a running tally, if you'd like to play again sometime," I tentatively offer.

"That sounds like an excellent idea. But it's gotten late, I'm going to get ready for bed. To be continued another night, we at least have to do a tie breaker." He yawns and walks to the bathroom. I'm surprised to hear the water run for a shower. I had assumed he took them in the morning before I got up, he always showered early at the motels. Once I hear the door open and unlock from my room I go in to pin my hair back and wash my face and brush my teeth etc. While I'm patting my face dry, Hans comes into the doorway, leaning against the frame. I forgot how sexy he looked with his hair wet. I realize I was staring again, this tome open mouthed.

"Can get in for a little bit?" he asks, seeming concerned.

"Sorry, yes, I'm done." I walk past him but his arm snaps out and blocks my exit.

"Are you feeling alright? You're not getting sick or something, are you?" I shake my head.

"Nope, I'm healthy." he still looks deep in thought as he lowers his arm to let me past.

"Goodnight," I call back but I leave before he responds because I don't think he will.


	9. Chapter 9

The next week and a half a routine is established. Hans spends most of his time in his room doing who knows what. Meals begin coming at regular intervals. Hans showers at night, I shower in the mornings, we play a game after dinner. Sometimes he'll drink wine, which I've noticed affects his temper for the worse. Four more times he has stormed off to bed, after insignificant bickering and downing at least half a bottle of wine, white or red.

I have started a little game with myself, to goal of which is to break down his barriers and truly get to know him. He has yet to let me into his thoughts, let alone his feelings, should he happen to have any, but I have begun to see slight changes in his demeanor. The only way I can describe it is he seems to be relaxing around me. His walls are up and as firm as ever, but I think he's becoming more comfortable around me and more trusting.

I've been keeping a tally of days I'm here on the wall, very prison-esque, and I'm one day past the two week anniversary of my arrival.

Ardal's loyalty is still firmly with Hans but his tag wags every time he sees me too now that I've been playing with him often. I've been filling my days by completing the Sudoku book, painting my nails and doing touch ups each day, rearranging the furniture in the living room, which nearly gave Hans a heart attack the first time he saw the change. I played around with a lot of different arrangements but decided on a simple altercation of the original set up by pitting the love seat on a forty degree angle to the wall and moving the end table next to the recliner. Also I've organized the book shelves alphabetically by title and language; he has some in German, French, and English, and unfortunately I have no desire to read the ones he has, though did I give it a try. As for the chores Hans asks of me, I complete then without complaint and sometimes of my own choice, just to do something.

I just began exploring the attic, mostly full of boxes of the stolen goods or dusty, ugly furniture. Some were labeled in German the word for high school and had age ranges which I don't dare disturb, certain they contain memories of his past and childhood. There were also some board games and puzzles which I brought down and we've begun playing together. I found a few sheet covered paintings and a marble statue. Are they originals? Perhaps. If so, Stolen? Quite likely. However, one captivated me so much I insisted Hans help me hang it, which he reluctantly did. Lately I've spent many minutes gazing at the picture it depicts. It is of a marsh with lots of wildlife and deserted canoes on the surface. Despite the copious nature and lush surroundings, the land seems desolate and lonely. Like it's missing something crucial. All the detail, shading, and brushwork are so meticulous each time I look at it I spot something new that alters my interpretation and idea of what the artist was trying to convey.

Hans' sex buddy did come by again, I shut myself in my room, and they actually talked for a while in the beginning. As their cries of passion began I pressed two pillows to my ears and pretended I was somewhere else. After she left it was awkward between us for a while but as the memory of their encounter faded it was back to normal.

For the past few days now I have been pestering Hans to let me out of the house, to take me ANYWHERE, I can feel myself going stir crazy. I've promised a thousand times I won't do anything bad but unfortunately so far he has been very resistant. I'll keep trying until he says yes.

I'm still deep in my thoughts while making dinner, hotdogs, red bell peppers, and chips (I'm tired today), when the telephone rings.

"Hans!" I yell, he has directed me not to answer it. His conversation seems very serious and private. He motions for me to leave the room and as I go to my room I see him sit down at the table and being to jot some things on a pad of paper. I repaint a few of my fingernails hot pink in the bathroom while his conversation progresses. At one point, I can hear him yelling into the receiver and it instantly makes me shiver. Angry men are one of my fastest triggers for anxiety and uncomfortableness. When I hear the tell-tale click, or in this case, slam, of the phone back in its port, I carefully return to the kitchen.

"Hey," I softly say, trying to inject as much sympathy as possible into my tone, "are you okay? Do you want to talk about it?" I address his hunched form with his head buried in his hands and gently brush his shoulder. He takes so long to raise his face I worry he may be crying.

"Yes, I'm fine," he claims, his voice breaking in the middle of his statement, "and no, I don't want to 'talk about it'," he sneers. Luckily I know enough about his disposition through observation during our interactions to know he's only lashing out to maintain his barriers. I give him what I hope is an empathetic look. I gnaw on my lip and nod.

"Alright then. Can ask who called?" he slides a hand down his face before slowly answering.

"I suppose. It was my brother." I never once considered Hans having family.

"We had a...disagreement. He doesn't agree with my methods of acquiring income," I am amazed that his brother walks the straight and narrow, "he finds them too direct." Never mind.

"And that affected you so much? That didn't come out right," I quickly add.

"No, what affected me were the insults he added about my thoroughness, skill, and caution. And about my treatment and attitude towards the rest of our family, specifically our mother." judging by the forced quality of his words his throat must have tightened.

"Well I can't make an educated comment on the family business and I don't know much about thievery, but from what I've seen firsthand, I think you are an _excellent_ thief and kidnapper." He gives no indication he heard. I decide to leave him with his thoughts and continue to prepare lunch. I set his on the table in front of him and eat mine in my room. It's obvious he needs to be alone and reflect. When I put my dishes in the sink I notice he hasn't touched his, in fact, he's barely moved.

"Hans," I say gently and concerned, "you didn't eat anything."

"Where would you like to go?"

"What?" I ask bewildered. He stands fluidly and grabs my upper arms firmly but not forcefully, pulling me close to him.

"You said you wanted to get out of the house, so where do you want me to take you?" he quickly explains, filled with a strange, contagious energy. I'm a little dazed but I'm not about to pass up this opportunity.

"Where are you willing to take me? I don't know what is out here, so you should choose."

"Very well, put on your coat and let's go," he enthusiastically directs. I go to my room and tug on the brown, goose down winter coat he bought for me. He throws me some spare black mittens and a hat, both slightly masculine and too big, but I doubt anyone will notice.

"So, where are we going?" I ask as we buckle our seatbelts.

"It's a surprise," he teases me, grinning. I admire the way his smile transforms his face before I can halt that dangerous thought.

"Can I at least get a hint?"

"I think you'll like my choice." Once he pulls out, I get my first view of the facade of the house. It's the classically German cream and brown outside with a two foot overhang of wooden shingles that starts from the edge of the peaked roof and curves down to slightly above the front door on the other side of the house. There is a small, snow covered porch with the hibernating tangle of wooden remains of shrubs in front of the fenced concrete ledge. It is appealing. We continue down the empty road, rarely passing another house along the way. A few turns and were onto a bustling main road.

We pass shopping centers, pubs and taverns, both fancy and casual restaurants, a courthouse, library, post office, town hall, those sorts of places. I admire the small, self contained town. I notice him gauging my reaction to his town. By the way my face has lit up I think it's obvious I like it. There are snow covered bronze statues and benches. Wreath-ringed street lamps and sparkling strings of lights dance in the late evening light. The snow twinkles on the ground and in the air. There are groups of laughing people strolling along the sidewalk, some obviously couples, walking hand in hand, groups of teenagers about my age, some older women with shopping bags. I forgot what it was like to be around other people.

He parks along what, at first glance, seems to be an empty field, but I quickly see it's a park. We get out, and even the biting wind, carrying snowflakes along in its gusts. I smile to the dark sky and am startled to feel something grab my hand. My shocked eyes relay to my stunned brain that Hans is holding my hand. Trying to convey a question without speaking I widen my eyes and stare into his.

"I want to know the second you may try to run away."

"I wouldn't dare. So why the park?" I ask and reposition my hand with his, my stomach fluttering, my mitten clad fingers wrapped around his glove padded palm, his fingers around the back of mine. It's not surprising I don't mind this form of restrainment, in fact, I fight to repress a smile.

We walk into the deserted area, street lights dotting the paths, yellow grass hidden beneath the feet of snow, the cobbled stone path glistening with salt and melted snow.

"Because this park was the stage for a competition recently." As we crest the shallow hill my next question is answered. Below, spotlights illuminate the masterful ice sculptures. I gasp and tug him forward, rushing to stand before he arranged figures. There is everything from animals to castles and historical sites to mythological creatures. I beam as I silently lead him down the rows, peering closely at the artworks. Sometimes I'll softly comment to him, in the peaceful but oppressive silence, something like 'Oo that's clever,' or, 'I think that one's my favorite,' which I admittedly said far more than once. He'll sometimes respond with a noncommittal noise in his throat.

A laughing couple comes walking past us and Hans turns, tugging me closer so I do the same, so our faces are blocked until the strangers are distant, and I don't mind, not at all. In fact, it leaves me hoping more people walk by.

"Ready?" he asks me as the snow slowly falls around us. We walked through rows upend rows and sadly came to the end. An ice covered fountain, ringed by stone benches, stands nearby but I resist the urge to beg him to let us go nearer to it and nod and let him navigate back.

As the car comes back into view and the only light comes from the lamps, my footing disappears and as I fall to the ground I clutch onto Hans. I grab his thick coat and crush his hand as he wraps an arm around my waist to stop my surely painful fall had I hit the ground.

"Thanks," I breathe as he helps pull me up and holds me while I regain my balance. In the freezing air, his warm body pressed to me is one of the greatest sensations I've ever experienced.

"There must be some ice here," I explain breathlessly while I still clutching his coat, afraid to slip again.

"Most likely," he agrees, his face so close to mine that his warm puff of breath tingled upon my face. I awkwardly clear my throat and pull away after his golden eyes and my green ones exchanged some unspoken sparks.

We continue walking as if nothing happened. When we get to the car he surprises me by opening my door for me. I thank him and he dips his head as acknowledgment. The cars heater is blasting as he begins to drive us back.

"That was an excellent pick, Hans."

"I'm glad you liked it. I had been meaning to see it since I didn't have the opportunity to yet this year. It's a tradition in my town."

"That's a very nice one." We keep the heater cranked, both of us peeling off hats and gloves but the warmth is heavenly. Ardal wags his tail when we walk through the door and weaves in between us as we remove our winter clothes and shove them in the dryer. He leaves to take what I'm sure will be a steaming shower and I thank him once more.

"Hans, I really appreciate you trusting me enough to take me outside. It was a very nice excursion and I hope we can have more similar ones in the near future."

"Yes, it was nice," he warmly, but with a little hesitation, replies.


	10. Chapter 10

*sorry it took so long for me to update. I'd written a lot for this story but it accidently was deleted. Until recently, I was unable to feel motivated to write it again. I hope you enjoy my newly inspired re-write! Also, in chapters I just posted the main characters name may have changed to Christine/a. Just ignore that. I'm an idiot and keep my stories straight *

In the morning I walk up completely energized and I happily greet Hans in the kitchen. To my delight he has already made breakfast.

"What inspired this?" I ask while spooning scrambled eggs onto a plate.

"I was hungry," he shrugs.

"You know, we missed our game last night, are you up for one now?"

"Sure, what do you want to play?" After a few rounds of backgammon Hans excuses himself because of work for past and future illegal activities needing completion. I clean up breakfast and work on a half-finished puzzle I have set up on the end of the table. After a while he comes back in. He sighs and pours himself another mug of coffee. With a start I realize how tired he looks, his face is puffy and he has bags under his eyes. It doesn't help that it looks like he's beet neglecting to trim his close-shaven goatee.

"Have you not been sleeping well, Hans?" He takes a long gulp of his black caffeine before answering.

"I guess not, no," he sighs and slumps at the table. I want to reach out and embrace him but I don't think he would respond positively to that.

"Then you shouldn't be drinking coffee, try this," I advise, lobbing an apple at him which he barely catches in time.

"What do I do with this?" he mumbles. I roll my eyes.

"Eat it, silly. Moving your jaw will help circulate blood to you head." Ardal whines to be let out so I quickly slide the door open for him. Satisfaction wells up inside me as I hear the crunch of the apple. He does look extremely fatigued though. "But it might not hurt to try to sleep again," I suggest.

"I don't think that would help. If I can't sleep at night, I'm not going to be able to sleep during the day," he tells a knot in the table's wood.

"How long have you had trouble sleeping?"

"It started recently; I just can't turn off my brain. The sleep I do get is restless and plagued by the strangest dreams. The past weeks I've gotten maybe four hours a night, but the past days, I've gotten three between them." No wonder he's exhausted.

"That's a problem. Have you tried meditating?"

"Of course. I just can't stop thinking about-" his voice cuts out and I lean forward, intrigued. Those beautiful, deep eyes jump to look into mine. "About…the plans," he unsteadily finishes. His hand jumps forward a few inches and then drops to his lap.

"Hans, no offense, but you really don't look good. You look unhealthy."

"Is this reality or a dream?" he quietly asks, ignoring my comment. Once again his hand jumps forward and then pulls back, as if zapped by an invisible force field.

"As far as I know it's reality," I somberly answer, knowing this is serious. He's not in a right spot. And although now would be an easy time to escape and him never be any wiser, taking advantage of his pain repulses me like nothing else.

"How can I be sure? Maybe you're just another specter, a hallucination sent to torture and entice me. Be gone, demon!" he cries, standing to flee to his room.

"Hans, Hans!" I yell at him and grab his ratty t-shirt from the back and he easily stops, no energy to fight. I recall only a month ago when this very position, though reversed, happened often enough with the same result. His hand alone contained enough power to hold me still, now his whole body wouldn't be capable to. I turn his shoulders around so he faces me, his face hung.

"You need to sleep."

"I can sleep in my dreams. Is this a dream?" He looks defeated and scared.  
"It must be, because you're about to go to bed." I lead him to his room and help him lie on the bed, pulling his covers up and then down. He reminds me of a child. I leave to pull the drapes together and he begins crying out. Instantly, I return to his side.

"If you speak truly, temptress, and this is a dream, allow me to speak without regret or shame. You, apparition, have light like I've never known. It is contagious and intoxicating." In what can only be a moment of extreme weakness, and therefore openness, Hans grabs my bare hand in his and brings it beneath the blankets to lie palm down upon his chest. My heart is fluttering and my lips are dry. Thankfully his eyes are closed, not witness to my blush and smile. His words, spoken during his confusion, can't be taken at face value, but that does not stop me from reveling in them anyways, my confidence and happiness aglow.

His hand remains on top of mine, clasping it to his firm chest. Gradually his breathing slows and becomes regular. Beneath my hand his muscles relax and his hand slides away. There is a small voice that calls for me to lie down next him and curl against his body, but I turn from the idea and tip toe out of his room, careful not to wake him.

I consider calling a doctor or something but I think once he regains his senses he would disapprove of that. Hopefully he sleeps well this time and his mental facilities are regained. Late in the afternoon my progress on the puzzle is interrupted by a commotion in his room.

I hurry in and find all the blankets tossed off, pillows either on the floor or teetering on a side. He's kicking and flailing about and rolling all around the bed. In his sleep he's yelling out.

"Hans!" I call to him, hurriedly putting one hand over his heart and my other cupping the side of his head. "It's okay, it's just a dream. You're dreaming!" His eyes dart crazily behind his eyelids.

"No, NO! You can't, you can't take her! Innocent, I swear she's innocent!"

"This isn't real, it's in your mind. Use your logic, use control, change the dream, change it to something pleasant!"

"You can't take her away, don't make her leave me! Don't leave me!"

"This is not actually happening. You are bigger than this, turn this nightmare into something good. Fly away, and put it behind you. You're on the beach, or in a candy store, or exploring a castle," I forcefully whisper. I don't know if it's my words or just a coincidence but he quiets and his movements become minimal.

Behind his head I reposition a pillow and pull a few blankets on top of him before leaving once again after he's quiet for a sometime. Though I know it isn't my business, and I know that given a choice Hans would never have let me hear his nightmare induced cries, I can't help but wonder who he was dreaming about. This mysterious 'she' who he so desperately needs with him could be anyone I suppose, a past lover or maybe deceased relative. Though the desire to know burns inside me, I will not mention what I have discovered unless he does. It is, without question, a private matter.

Eventually he wakes in the evening, and I'm glad to see the sleep has energized him enough to shave and removed the darkest circles under his eyes. It's obvious he's still overtired but he claims he'll sleep soundly tonight too while we eat dinner.

"Thank you for helping me this morning, the rest was very needed. I'd mention how specific things were very kind of you, but to be honest I can't remember much about what actually transpired."

"That's alright. You actually thanked me for something, that's all I need.

"I wish to apologize for my thoughtless and unreasonable behavior this morning, I had lost all control,-"

"You are still sorely overtired and unreasonable if you think you should apologize for your state of mind earlier. It was no more fault had it been induced by an illness," I interrupt to stop him.

"All the same, I shouldn't have lost restraint like that, it was embarrassing."

"Hans Gruber, you have pride such like that I've never seen before."

Over the next few days he regains his sleep, claiming to sleep peacefully, and sleeping later than I do and going to his room earlier each night. He begins eating more, standing straighter, and blocking me out more. We converse more, but about menial topics, such as how to properly use 'it' in the German language, how long it stays cold here, Ardal's intelligence, etc. I learn no more about him, and if anything his walls are stronger, not weaker.


	11. Chapter 11

"Hans," I call from the bathroom, trying to keep my desperation hidden.

"Don't holler at me, come here!" he replies from the kitchen. He's taken to making more and more of our meals.

"I can't," I reply, my voice cracking in nervousness for the upcoming confrontation. I can practically hear his annoyance as he sets down whatever dish he was preparing and walks to the bathroom door.

"What is it?" he asks, obviously with a barely restrained temper. He's been very short with me lately and I can't help but theorize it's purely to keep me at a distance.

"I need you to go to the store and pick me up a few, ahem, feminine products." I'm very glad he can't see my face. And that I can't see his. When he responds, I know he's too embarrassed to feel angry anymore.

"Uhh. Okay. Is it an emergency?" he asks very delicately.

"Yes," I say emphatically.

"Okay. What do you want?" I describe what the appropriate sizes and amount would be and without saying goodbye I hear him walk away, grab his keys, and leave. Although I could have gotten them myself, I don't have many clothes to spare and can't afford to ruin a pair of underwear. In hindsight, I think ruefully while I wait for his arrival, I should have asked for them anticipatorily, but I really just wanted to put off that conversation for as long as possible. He returns in about ten minutes and wordlessly drops something at the bathroom door. I wait until noise resumes in the kitchen and then quickly retrieve the package. I store the rest below the sink and wait to leave the bathroom until my face is no longer red.

"Good morning," I quickly say, trying to dispel the awkwardness. The doorbell rings. I quickly grab a plate of bacon and eggs and dash to my room. It's about time she showed up again. I'm actually glad she's come, hopefully Hans can release some of that ridiculous built up tension. As their visit intensifies I hold a pillow to my ears. Not long after, they bid each other goodbye.

Today won't be awkward at all.

We spend the rest of the morning and early evening avoiding eye contact. I do some chores and play with Ardal. Hans reads in the living room, a new habit that still doesn't cease to amaze me. Before he did everything in his room, and now he chooses to read while Ardal is whining and barking and we're chasing each other around the kitchen and living room. At sunset, which is gradually becoming later and later, I start fixing dinner.

"Here, let me help. I'll skin the potatoes, you cut the vegetables?" he offers. I shake my head and smile.

"I don't think so. Peeling potatoes is my favorite." How I manage to converse with him after the shock of his offer of help is a mystery.

"I guess we'll have to duel. Rock, paper, scissors?" I nod and we count off.

"Ha-ha! Paper beats rock," I joyfully exclaim and pick up a potato and the peeler. We work wordlessly side by side at the sink for thirty minutes. Our hands fingers brush softly as I pass him the potatoes. Later, while we battle in war, both of us a little tipsy from the wine he insisted I drink, we laugh together at nothing, forging a bond with the alcohol induced giddiness. I'm beginning to understand why people drink at college parties and what not.

As I bid him goodnight, the fading buzz increasing my sleepiness, he drunkenly pulls me into him in a very forceful hug. I truly understand the restraint he used when punishing me in the hotels. The strength of his embrace forces the air from my lungs and I don't even think he's trying. I wanly attempt to push back against his torso, but my arms are trapped under his. Finally, he drops his arms. My ribs are sore.

"Sleep well," he wishes as he steers me toward my room, his hand on my lower back. My foggy brain can't quite comprehend the purpose in this gesture.

"Thanks, you too." There's a strange, slightly frightening light in his eyes, probably from the alcohol. I hurry to my room and shut the door, my drugged brain responding to stimuli in a rather unfamiliar way.

I wake up very late the next day, head softly pulsing. When I enter the kitchen, he turns from the TV and greets me cheekily with "good afternoon." I roll my eyes and grumble something. "Not used to alcohol?" he stands and shuts off the television.

"Not in the slightest," I say after about a 10 minute pause.

"Probably because your lack of muscle mass."

"And my lack of previous ingestment of alcohol."

"You've never had _any?_" he asks shocked.

"Not really. A few sips here and there. But nothing like what I'd consumed last night. My group of friends at home weren't drinkers. Probably seems silly to a heavy drinker like yourself to be so extremely affected by so little." He shrugs.

"Not at all. I understand the properties of alcohol. A few more months in Germany and you'll have as much of a tolerance as I do," he says with a small smile. I return the expression and fetch myself some food.

"If you're not feeling well, you probably don't want to make dinner," he says tentatively. Unsure of what he's about to propose but liking the direction it seems to be taking, I agree. "How would you feel about going out tonight? If your headache isn't too bad."

"I'd love to! That would be wonderful. What an excellent idea." He gives the slightest smile to the floorboards.

"Excellent. I'll make reservations for 5:30 at someplace nice. Did I buy you clothes that would be acceptable for a Christmas/Easter mass?"

"I don't think so but I might be able to make something work. I'll go check after breakfast."

"If not, I would also be willing to take you shopping."

"Once again, that would be wonderful. Thank you, Hans." I finish my early lunch and depart to my room to examine my clothing selection and the possibilities behind Hans' sudden generosity. My desire to go out speeds up my conclusion that the clothes are too casual and I return happily with the news. We agree to go out at 3 and I spend the time until then watching TV and playing board games with Hans.

When we head out at three, he very graciously opens my door for me. Once at the boutique, he allows me to shop and just idly follows behind me. Every so often he makes a suggestion of something to try on. My favorite that he suggested, not because of style but because of the connotations behind his suggestion, was a rather short and tight black dress.

"This would look nice on you," he suggests, pulling it from the rack.

"Little small, don't you think," I mention skeptically. He shrugs.

"I guess. Still would look nice," he replies unemotionally.

"Well, that's quite the compliment, Mr. Gruber," I say with a grin. I may be mistaken, but I think I catch a slight reddening of his cheeks. When I go to try the clothes on, I occasionally come out of the dressing room to ask his opinion. Always a little uncomfortable, as his eyes must trace over my body, but I don't like purchasing clothes without a second opinion, even with someone else's money. Suddenly feeling rebellious, I slip into a rather skimpy red dress that was left in the dressing area.

"Hans, what about this one?" I ask in a perfectly innocent tone. He turns around, and his jaw literally drops, his eyes quite obviously caressing my form.

"It looks…quite nice." After a rather about thirty seconds of him staring at the floor I can't hold in my laughter anymore. He flicks his eyes to mine, surprise. "I take it this outfit is not seriously up for consideration." I laugh and nod.

"That is correct." He rolls his eyes, but as he turns his back, I catch him mutter something.

"Would be nice if it was though," his rumbling voice says softly. Pleased with the effect this dress seemed to have on him, I turn back to the dressing room while stowing the power of a short, tight red dress on his facilities. However, my modesty has not completely evaporated, so I select a reasonably formal patterned dress for our evening out that he said looked nice. A short time spent browsing shoes and jewelry and then it's about time to go dinner. He purchases my selections, and I change in the dressing rooms. As the restaurant is nearby and the snow is beginning to melt, we walk to the restaurant. The town he has selected to live by is quite charming. A few minutes into our walk, while stopped at a crosswalk, I notice he has been staring at me.

"What?" I ask puzzled and a little concerned I have something on face.

"Nothing," he replies openly. But continues to stare into my eyes. Slightly perturbed, I glace away and shift my balance.

"Then why are you staring at me?" I don't bother attempting to conceal my irritation.

"Just feel like it," he states plainly. I roll my eyes at his strangeness and try to ignore the sensation of his gaze on me.

When we get to our table at the restaurant, he removes my coat for me, briefly running his hands down my bare arms in the process, and sets it on the back of my chair that he scoots in for me, before taking his own. Our eyes meet as he sits down, and in that moment I know I cannot deny my feelings for him anymore. I can make as many excuses about Stockholm Syndrome as I'd like, but I cannot deny this attraction, this desire. More than attraction – feelings of caring too. Overcome with this realization, I bury my face in my menu, concealing my expression momentarily. I force myself to ignore this for as long as I remain in his company, determined not to reveal this to him. He has been acting most kindly lately, but experience has shown me that can change like the weather. Besides, that is no indication that he reciprocates such feelings.

"Do you know what you're going to order?" he asks suddenly, breaking into my thoughts. I haven't even looked at the menu.

"Why don't you choose for me. I don't know what would be good."

"Alright. Sausage and biskets okay?"

"Sure," I reply slightly shakily.

"I'll order some beer too. Authentic German, you've got to try it." I smile and nod agreement. We make pleasant conversation about the restaurant - it is stunningly beautiful - the food, the town, the customers. On our way out, he offers his hand to help me up, and assists me in putting my coat on. His touch combined with his proximity makes my breath catch.

"Did you enjoy yourself, Nicole?" he asks as we exit into the night.

"Quite a bit, yes. You make for enjoyable company, Mr. Gruber." He smirks a bit.

"As does yourself, Miss Wilkins," he says warmly.

"I'm glad to hear that you think so," I reply trying to conceal the depth to which I mean that. We walk together in a comfortable silence to his car.

Once back at his house, I offer that we watch a movie on television.

"That would be wonderful. I'll make popcorn." I sit on the couch, my legs tucked up underneath me. He walks over, places the bowl between us and places a bottle and glass of wine on the end table. He offers some to me but I decline.

"I've always wondered if that's comfortable. Since we first met, you sat like that."

"It's very. And helps keep my feet warm. I'm surprised to learn you paid any attention to me during that time. It seemed like I was just…an object, a tool to maintain your security." He seems genuinely hurt in the sense that he quickly conceals the expression that told me he was.

"Not at all. I've always paid attention to you, Nicole. I've always…cared about you." My shock is evident and I don't bother to hide it.

"Oh, well, I didn't know that. I'm…glad I do. I care about you, too, Hans." On impulse, I reach my hand to clasp his that rests on the couch. He smiles, an unconcealed, genuine one, and continues to hold my hand throughout the film. When the popcorn is finished and the bowl placed on the floor, I scoot closer to him and lean against his shoulder, surprising myself. But not nearly as surprised by my actions as his response, a repositioning (that I first thought was to get away from me) that ended in his closest arm around my shoulders and his far hand now holding mine. At that point, I am unable to return my focus to the movie. Perhaps it is just me, but when it ends and we retire to our rooms, there is a bit of uncertainty in our departure.

Alone, I ponder my self-admittance of feelings for him. I realize that I have come to terms with these feelings inwardly; I just cannot possibly admit them to him. The devastation of that on our delicate balance of civility and what could possibly a maturing closeness of friendship would be unspeakable. To inform him of them would likely startle him so much as to cause him to retreat once more, probably permanently. And I refuse to sacrifice this bond to give light to these twisted, stupid emotions. No, it will remain an unacknowledged, un-acted upon affection. That is the only way. With this resolution, reasonably sturdy, I go fall asleep.


	12. Chapter 12

***Hey, everyone. Sorry for the delay in updating! I actually had a lot written for this story; I just hadn't had the time to update. Hope you enjoy the next few chapters!***

The next morning, just as the sun is beginning to peak above the horizon and into my room through the shades, I wake to Hans roughly shaking me.

"Hurry, get to my room. No time to explain. Wait in there for about thirty minutes. Come out, appearing as though you just woke up. Wear one of my t-shirts," he rattles off while half-leading-half-dragging my weary form. "Just follow my lead," he states before closing his bedroom door. I hear him open the front door and greet a visitor. Can't be the girl, he wouldn't put me in here if she came. Can't be Karl, Hans has no reason to hide me from him. Normally I would fall back asleep and miss the thirty minute exit mark, but my curiosity is so peaked I know that's not a danger. I slip on one of Hans' t-shirts. It comes to upper thigh. I realized what he wants me to look like, but I can't fathom why. Pressing my ear to the door, I can hear a man's voice speaking in German. It's not Karl or Theo, I'm positive of that. My curiosity is about to burst.

Finally what I estimate is thirty minutes passes and I exit sleepy-eyed and acting very surprised to see a visitor. I'm not sure whether to use English or try to use German. Thankfully, Hans takes up in my native tongue.

"Ah, darling, good morning, I see you're up," he greets me warmly, standing, and gently hugs me while planting a soft kiss on my cheek.

"You didn't tell me you'd be having company this morning," I say in a trying to sound calm voice. Like a woman would who just had her recent sexual history on display for a stranger.

"Well, I didn't know before now, sweetie. Tony stopped by last minute," he imitates my tone. We seem like a couple avoiding a quarrel in front of a guest. "Speaking of him, this is my brother, Tony. Tony, this is Nicole, my girlfriend. She's American," he explains the switch in language.

"Pleasure to meet you," he also stands and extends a hand to me. As I clasp it, I see a vicious light in his eyes. There's no mistaking this is Hans' brother. " I didn't know you were seeing anyone," he comments to Hans.

"Yes, well, we meet only recently." He blushes to emphasize the awkwardness of the situation. I'm floored by his acting before I realize he must get lots of practice as a thief. I must remember he has the ability to portray false emotions. I let the uncomfortable silence grow.

"I should probably leave, I've got some things to take care of and-"

"Nonsense," Hans cuts me off.

"No, really," I stop abruptly as Hans places his hands on my waist and guides me a little farther from his brother who is now seated at the table. He pulls me close to him and lowers his mouth to my ear and while he runs his hands up and down my back, whispers "scandalous" things in my ear.

"You're doing great. Now giggle," he orders. I comply. "Make breakfast, than go back into my room." He raises his voice slightly. "so amazing last night. I was hoping I could see a little more of that this morning."

"Oh, I think you've seen enough," I tease, laying a hand on the small of his back, tracing my fingers around. He laughs easily and as I turn, smacks my ass. I manage, just barely, to conceal my surprise.

"I'll just make breakfast and leave you to it. Anyone want something?"

"I ate, thank you," Tony replies.

"You know what I want," Hans says, lustfully staring at my legs. I roll my eyes as I turn around at how much he's laying it on. I quickly scramble some eggs and make a show of looking for the plates while they carry on in German. As I leave I return to Hans and wrapping an arm around his shoulders I peck his cheek while I stage whisper, "Try and make this quick, because I don't want to." He laughs and makes to kiss me on the lips. Hastily I stop him, trying not to display my mixed emotions.

"Morning breath," I explain, my finger still pressed to his lips. "Nice meeting you," I nod to Tony before scurrying into his bedroom and sitting on the bed to eat. I change back into my own pajamas, relishing the scent that lingers to the shirt as I pull it over my head. About thirty minutes later I hear their conversation progress into the hallway and not long after, the door open and close and a car starting. Hans opens the door and leans against the doorway.

"Nice acting," he compliments.

"Thanks, you too." He doesn't break eye contact, but he also doesn't respond. Finally he glances away.

"Wasn't too difficult. Your performance was rather…stirring." He studies my expression while I study him. This time I look away. Unsure of his game, I make a humming noise and then change the subject.

"Why was your brother here?"

"A couple things. It appears there has been a hitch in the plan he and I concocted. In addition to his disapproval of my interactions, or lack thereof, with our family." I'm pleasantly surprised he answered me so honestly. "Now, I've answered your question, it's my turn to ask you one and receive an honest answer."

"Very well," I agree, intrigued about what he wants to know and not at all surprised his straight-forward answer was part of a ploy.

"Why didn't you want to kiss me?" This is the last thing I expected him to inquire about. Despite the emotional undertones of the question, he states it in a complete monotone. I sputter, a little taken off guard.

"Well, I don't know you that well. And even if I did know you well enough to be comfortable kissing you, I would not want our first kiss to be in front of a stranger."

"You speak of knowing me well enough, but say nothing regarding the possession of the emotional desire of wanting to kiss me. Is that not important to you when considering kissing someone?" He steps further into the room.

I hurriedly stand, the plate held in front of my chest, and scurry to the kitchen, calling back in a hopefully dismissive tone, "Does it really matter?" To my horror, he follows me.

"Now I'm intrigued. What were you referring to as not mattering? Having emotional desire to kiss someone before doing so or your statement?" His monotone has disappeared to be replaced with an excited/anxious inflection.

"Hans," I say in a bored tone, stalling, attempting to collect my thoughts. I turn around after placing the plate in the sink, shocked to find him mere inches behind me. My carefully-worded response evaporates. "I-I don't want to talk about this anymore." The desperate state of my mind is betrayed by my inability to assert the statement. It comes out as a whisper. His hands press against the side of the counter on either side of me, pinning me in place.

"I do," he whispers. I roll my eyes, a feeling of helplessness threatening to overpower me. How can I talk to him about this when I can't even talk to myself about this honestly? I change tactics and throw it back on him.

"Why are you so interested if I have the desire to kiss you?" His expression alters to one of extreme amusement.

"I don't believe that was my line of inquiry. I was just curious what your parameters were for kissing. And why I did not fit them. A question you have yet to answer sufficiently. Interesting that you interpreted this question in the manner that you did." Damn.

"Hans…" I trail off, confused and embarrassed.

"Nicole," he replies, mimicking my tone but assuming a more authoritive inflection. There is a silence that extends while I try to conjure a phrasing that as vaguely as possible answers him. Finally, I succeed.

"Having a desire to kiss someone is an important factor to me. Forgive me for not mentioning it before."

"There, was that so hard?" Despite the apparent satisfaction to his line of inquiry, he does not move and allow me to depart. The silence stretches again and I try to gleam his thoughts in his carefully guarded eyes. "However, your statement did not address whether that was something also lacking in your objection to kissing me."

"I think kissing is an expression of affection and love and should be private and personal. I'm sorry, but I'm not comfortable discussing my feelings about romance with you."

"You don't need to. I just want to know if you have a desire to kiss me." His face seems closer to mine.

"I don't know! On one hand, admittedly, I am very attracted to you, you're a very physically impressive specimen and your mystic doesn't hurt. On the other, you're a murderous thief who has hurt me emotionally and physically." My rushed rant begins to slow as my emotional turmoil calms from the release of it. "So yes, I do desire to kiss you in an animalistic way. Emotionally, in the higher-level of thinking way, no, I do not, because you are a mean man. Forgive my frankness, but that was the only way I could think of properly answering your question." While I spoke, I watched his expressions change from surprise, to pride, to confusion, to something resembling concern. He now seems locked onto stoic mask of stone. He swallows and retreats.

"I appreciate your answer. Much more revealing than I was expecting or desiring, but quite interesting, thank you." I am unable to determine if this is chastisement or an expression of hurt. As I don't want to know, I keep my eyes fixated on the floor. Slowly, he turns and secludes himself to his room. I make lunch for us and knock on his door on two separate occasions to tell him, but I receive no answer. His behavior concerns me, mostly as I am unable to settle on a reasonable explanation for this bizarre behavior. In the end, I decide it must have to do with something his brother said or the disruption in their plans.


	13. Chapter 13

After yesterday's strange behavior, I am a little reluctant to spend time with him today, but my desire to be in his presence eventually lures me out of my room. How different from when I first arrived here. I've lost track of the days here, they all seem to blend together in a blur of boredom with occasional peaks of fear, confusion, and, most rarely, happiness. Once outside I find breakfast made, Hans reading the paper.

"Good morning," I greet him, uncertain if I'll receive a response, but I figured I should at least make an effort. To my joy, I do.

"Breakfast is ready. Hope you like eggs and toast."

"Of course. Thank you." He nods once. As the day goes on, I notice that he seems calculatedly distant – he remains friendly and kind, but he does not go out of his way to engage me or interact on a level that is more than polite. I spend my day doing some extra cleaning. It gives me something to do while I ponder his strange behavior. By the time I've finished cleaning the first floor, I have determined the most likely causes for his change in behavior.

One possibility is that by acknowledging my feelings for him to myself, I subconsciously started to reveal them to him as well. Wary of, or not reciprocating, this, he distanced himself to discourage them. Another possibility is that some new information was brought to light by his brother, perhaps about their departure, that has caused him to pull away. Perhaps it is no longer possible to bring me along to Hans' destination, and he must now either send me back home, endangering himself, or kill me. These two scenarios seem the most likely.

It could also be that our evening out aroused something in him that he is trying to repress and distance himself from. Most unlikely, but possible. Or, it could be a simple case of him deciding, without outside stimuli, that he had grown too attached and open. Whichever one it is, I would like his previous state of lowered defenses to return. I much preferred interacting him when it didn't feel like walking on eggshells.

Unfortunately, over a week and a half has passed with him remaining cordial but distant. I recall the first few days of my captivity and the loneliness that accompanied them. My reaching out to Hans makes so much sense with my current perspective: I was scared, bored, and alone. And he was the only one here. Still is the only one here, only now my loneliness is so much more pronounced. I had a friend, but now he has left. Knowing what it was like to, albeit briefly, be friends with Hans, makes his distance so much more pronounced. In all honesty, it hurts.

He has declined, on multiple occasions, my offers to play any sort of card or board game, when assisting me with chores or food preparation, he does not converse, he has retreated to his room once more. In general, he speaks to me only when I instigate, and I'm starting to not bother trying anymore. He always seems reasonably pleased to be conversing, but I am starting to sense that I am bothering him. If I just knew what was causing his withdrawl, I could deal with it better. I could either mitigate what caused it, or at least I would know it wasn't my fault. And, if it was, I could change it.

"Hans," I begin harshly one night at dinner when the impulsive urge to discover the reason for his distancing overrides my sense, "did I do something to upset you?" I finish timidly, losing my courage to finish the inquiry, but it was too late to recant the question in its entirety.

"No. No, of course not! What would make you think that?" he asks with such genuine concern and confusion that I question my memories of the last two weeks.

"I…I guess you just haven't seemed like you've wanted to talk to me. Or even see me."

"Oh, my. No, I certainly hadn't meant to give that impression."

"So, everything is fine? You're fine? I'm fine? We're fine?"

"Yes, certainly," he answers emphatically. He smiles briefly, but it seems to come on too soon and fade too quickly.

"Is there anything that you would like to talk about?" I ask suspiciously. His behavior the past weeks cannot be ignored; there is something going on, and now I know that whatever it is, he does not want to tell me. This cannot possibly be good.

"Nicole, everything is fine. I promise." Yet, not a minute later, he stands and leaves to his room, which he remains in for the rest of the evening. I can't believe this; it's like a nightmare. Feeling rather depressed, I slump off to my room.

The next morning at a silent breakfast, the doorbell rings.

As Hans shoos me away, I mutter, "I wish I had a sex buddy. Then maybe I would be so damn _bored_." I can feel his glare on my back, but I don't really care.

"Do you have time to go slow today?" I hear him ask before I have the chance to shove pillows to my ears. About forty-five minutes into her visit, the piercing shrieks start picking up. Through the cascading overlaps of both (unusual for Hans) their calls, one specific shout stands out.

And that's only because the male voice just screamed my name. Time seems to freeze, rewind, then lurch forward at a record pace before slowing back down. In this period, I confirm with my memories I heard what I thought I did, deal with the shock, become inundated with the connotations of this happenstance, and, finally, return to reality and the awkwardness that just happened, is happening, and surely must happen the next time I see Hans.

Right now, I hear angry voices raised and the front door slam. Uncertain of what to do next, I remain in my room, staring at the wall. Possibly in shock. I mean, he yelled my name. Yelled it during intercourse. Implying, that, well, he was imagining that what it was he was doing, he was doing with me.

There is a hesitant knock on my door.

"Come in," I say, my voice unsteady.

"Hey, Nicole," he says, his voice lingering over the words. I flick my eyes to him, and then instantly look away again. The uncertainty and awkwardness in his eyes was too much. "So, I don't know exactly how much you heard, so I just wanted to ask –"

"Yes, I heard my name. Heard you shout my name, to be more specific." I stare at him to watch his reaction.

"Ah, well…" he swallows, stares for a few seconds, then simply walks out the door, returning to the kitchen. I stare at my doorframe, shocked at his reaction. No BS cover story, no excuse, no addressing the emotions? My confusion gives me courage, and I stand and follow him.

"Hans, are we not going to talk about this?" He looks away. "Hans," I say demandingly.

"What do you want to talk about?" he asks harshly. "I mean, what is there for me to say? What do you want me to say? Take it back, excuse it? What's the point." On that note, he stands and slams the door to his room.

I don't even know where to start right now. The confirmation that Hans is physically, and likely emotionally, attracted to me – where to even start with reacting to that. Confusion? Awkwardness? Happiness?


	14. Chapter 14

Uncertain of how to proceed, I stare at his door while standing shell-shocked in the kitchen. Ardal scampers over at one point, but I ignore his whines to play. Just as I am screwing up the courage to go tell him how I feel – all these twisted, confused emotions – the phone rings. The air grows tense with uncertainty; will he come out of his den to answer the phone, or is his embarrassment so great he cannot even do that? On the third ring, he rather aggressively storms out of his room, moving around me as if I didn't exist, and picks up the phone. As he listens to someone on the other line speak rapidly and briefly, his face falls into something resembling horror. A one worded goodbye and he slams the receiver down.

He rushes to the television, turning it to a news station broadcasting live a report of the arrest of a suspected terrorist, Karl. He's led out of his house in handcuffs while the flashing lights illuminate the scene. This can't be. They found Karl – the CIA in their black trooper gear swarm the scene, along with some German representatives. Now probably isn't the best time for me to tell Hans what it is I planned to. Hans looks at me with an expression I can't name. No affection shows in his eyes.

"Hans what does this mean?" I ask fearfully.

"That you just became my ticket to freedom." He pauses and looks down, kicking his feet, obviously weighing a decision. "They're going to run his calls and come here. We're leaving, now. Pack your clothes. When you're done, strip the bed and gather Ardal's things." He issues these orders and I quickly follow them. It takes me about three minutes to throw everything of mine into a duffle bag he provides and then work on collecting Ardal's toys and the like. He's been wiping down every single possible surface. I hand him the blankets and he throws them outside with an order to do the same to his. Once they're in a pile along with mine, he pours a bottle of wine on them and strikes a match. They blaze up. Ardal sits in the kitchen, watching the rapid activity. Hans orders me up to the attic and I bring down the few boxes that are up there, setting them in the trunk of his car.

Hans cleans out the fresh food items, vacuums everything, cleans every inch, efficiently packs his own bag, checks the blankets burned satisfactorily, and then shuts the door with a very final slam. He silently beckons for me to follow. The phone is unhooked and shoved in a bag. Ardal follows at his feet and we enter the garage. The door cranks open and a blast of freezing wind hits.

"What's the plan?" I ask as we both hover in the doorway.

"For now, getting in the car. Could you get Ardal in the car, it's just that I, umm, forgot, well, there's-"

"I understand," I cut him off and leave, knowing he needs to say a final goodbye alone.

Once in the car, I again consider telling him my feelings, but I figure that's the last thing on his mind right now, and I don't want to distract him. We zoom out of the neighborhood, his hands tense on the wheel. As we reach the downtown area, he seems to relax a little. Stopped at a red light, his voice rumbles, breaking our silence.

"Please stop staring at me," he says sternly, but emotionlessly. Unaware that I had been, I hurriedly flick my eyes away.

"Hans," I begin to say tenderly

"Don't bother," he voice snaps. Taken aback, and reminded why I am so conflicted about liking him, I keep silent.

A few minutes later, as he pulls onto the highway, "Where are we going?" I ask in a tone as cold as I can muster.

"My mother's house. My brother will meet us there, just so you know."

"Isn't he going to ask why you brought your girlfriend?" I inquire, my voice now more nervous than angry.

"Yes. So we are going to have to pretend to be so in love that we wouldn't be able to tolerate being separated," he says quietly, almost timidly. "I hope that won't be too much of an issue for you," he adds frigidly. I inhale to refute his statement, but a car zips in front of us and he slams on the brakes, causing me to I gasp in fear and throw my hand on his arm, squeezing forcefully. Despite the cars zooming around us, we lock eyes, an expression in his so shocked that it borders terror, for a second before I rip my hand away and settle further away in my seat.

The rest of the drive passes in silence, until we pull into a very wealthy neighborhood. My eyebrows shoot up my forehead. I look at him, but his eyes remain firmly fixed on the tree-lined, manicured lawns. Pristine and massive houses fleck the sides of the road, often expanses of greenery separating each mansion. As he pulls into the driveway of one, a turreted, stain-glass windowed, castle recreation, he finally speaks.

"Theft is…more of a pastime than a need," is all he mutters on the subject. Reading his mood, I choose to remain silent, unsure what may set him off. He is visibly tense. The next step is quite obvious, yet he remains stationary. A few deep breathes and then he turns off the car and shifts his eyes to mine.

"Try to avoid speaking. Or leaking any…awkwardness that may be lingering between us."

"I'll do my best," I say quietly. He nods once, staring straight ahead.

"Okay," he says more to himself than me. As he finally leaves the car, I do the same, following behind him. The door opens before he knocks, a suited butler greeting us and leading us into the interior. Simon waits, leaning against an ornate door frame.

"Hello, Hans. I see you've brought your friend from before," he states coolly.

"Yes, well, she and I couldn't bear to be apart," he says sounding robotic and insincere. Even I could do a better job than that. Simon raises his eyes at the blatant untruth but makes no comment. They walk side by side further into the house, exchanging no words, so I assume I am expected to follow my "boyfriend." We reach a door at the end of a door-lined hallway. Hans and Simon exchange a rapid dialog in German before Hans turns to me and "suggests" that I wait outside. Surprisingly, he does so quite well-naturedly and, frankly, kindly. I am pleased to see that he has been able to regain our cover story. Hans enters the room while Simon waits outside with me. We pass a few minutes in silence.

"So, you're Hans' girlfriend, huh?" I give a half-hearted smile and nod, and we settle into silence again. I would try to engage him, but Hans said to avoid talking, so silence it is. "Why?" he asks rather aggressively.

"Sorry? 'Why' what?" I clarify, genuinely confused.

"Why are you dating him?" he says calmly.

"B…because I like him," I reply, inflecting it almost like a question.

"Yeah, but why?" He's not buying this. I take a deep breath.

"Well, because he's so intelligent: so clever and intuitive. He's rather handsome as well, so that doesn't hurt his case." I pause for a bit, digging for more positive traits. "Considerate. He also can really be very considerate and thoughtful. He's harsh, also, of course. You're his brother, so I'm sure that you know that, but his harshness makes his kindness all the more meaningful. Because when he is kind, he's not just a kind person being himself. I mean, he's clearly a rather troubled person, so when he is kind, you know that he's going so much more out of his way, trying so hard, wanting to be a better person. I like that he tries. And, I like that he tries for my sake. Because, if he wanted, he could just be mean. But he tries to be nice." I collect myself after my rant, revealing thoughts I didn't know that I had. "That probably tells you more than you wanted to know," I add with a soft blush. He shrugs, staring over my shoulder, but he seems sated by my answer, no longer so suspicious of our "relationship."

"My, Nicole, that was quite sweet," I hear Hans' voice say from behind me. Eyes wide, I turn around, shocked to find Hans had heard my words. The uncertain expression in his eyes tells me he is questioning his earlier assumption of my lack of feelings for him.

"I didn't know you would hear that," I whisper, stepping a little closer to him. He gives me a smile that truly seems sincere, not part of our charade.

"I'm glad that I did," he says in a volume barely above mouthing the words. Simon clears his throat.

"So, what did Mum say?" he asks, ignoring our exchange.

"She said I'm welcome. A couple other things as well, but also that I am welcome. That we are welcome," he adds to me. He sets off down the hall, striding more confidently now. "Simon, I will go park the car in the garage, and then we will settle into our rooms." Simons head cocks at the last word.

"Room_s_?" he asks, curiosity piqued. What Hans said as a reflex has not helped our case. We exchange a micro-glance.

"Yes, Nicole prefers her privacy. And kicks quite a bit in her sleep. So we both prefer separate beds," Hans covers smoothly. Simon makes a face of surprise, but says nothing. I follow Hans out to the car, getting inside with him so that we may converse.

"So, what was that about?"

"I just had to check in with my mum, make sure she's okay harboring a fugitive. They, my family, were pretty upset by the botched job in the US. Still having a hostage from said failure would only increase their resentment of the incident. And be seen as a further failure…and something to be immediately disposed of."

"Well, Hans, I appreciate that you are not _disposing _of me. Quite a bit, I do." He just shrugs with his face and says nothing. I am longing to wrap my arms around him and promise him that everything will be okay, but the uncertainty between us obviously does not allow me to do that. Once in the garage, isolated from the house itself by about 200 meters, I am overcome with the urge to kiss him. Yet, this does not seem the ideal place, a smelly, cold, uninteresting building. As we exit the garage, I spy a rather secluded little garden, stone statues, a fountain not yet running, and best of all, some tall pines that would block the view of us from the house.

"Hans, what's that?" I ask while scampering over to the area before he can stop me.

"Nicole, we have to go back inside," he calls while chasing me into their depths. I dart around a corner of the garden. As he turns it, I step out from my slight seclusion, surprising him a few inches away. "Nicole, there you are." I link my hand with his, an embrace he returns seemingly without conscious consideration. "Come on, we should…What?" he asks uncertainly, noticing a glint in my eyes. Wordlessly, I place my free hand behind his neck, rise onto my tip-toes, close my eyes, and tug at his head, bringing his lips to mine. I feel his shock by this turn of events course through him before he realizes what has happened as begins to kiss me back, his arms wrapping around my back and pulling me against him. I briefly run my hands through his hair, across his shoulders, sinking into the sensation of _him _before I pull away enough to break the kiss. As I do so, I look up into his eyes, judging his reaction. He seems rather pleasantly stunned.

"Just in case there is the occasion of an expected kiss," I briefly explain, lying of course, but I see no point in admitting that. From my perspective, the true reasons are painfully obvious. Flicking my eyes down, I remove my hands from him and break from his embrace, returning to the path to the house. After a short delay, he follows and catches up. He says nothing, but I catch a small smile flicking across his features.


End file.
